


Shadow of the Bookman: Volume Three

by ButterflyGhost



Series: Shadow of the Bookman [3]
Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Undercover, Vegas, armando langoustini - Freeform, shadow of the bookman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p>Che casino! - What a fuck up! (Literally and crudely, 'what a whore house.')</p><p>Prendi cura di questo - Sort this out/Take care of this.</p><p>Non voglio che i due di voi di andare botte da orbi - I don't want you two fighting like cats and dogs.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****

**_Date: Unknown_ **

_“So. Armando. Seems we have a lot to talk about.”_

_Ray strains against his bonds, and tries to guess where the voice will come from next. The woman questioning him is obviously walking around the room, probably to keep him disconcerted. He’s been conscious a few hours. At least… it feels like hours. And she’s been asking the same question, over and over again. He flinches when, this time, her voice comes from just behind him. “When did you first think you were being betrayed?”_

_“Who by?” Ray snaps, finally speaking. “You guys, or my cousin?” He has no idea who these people are – local families, foreign rivals, his own cousin. Maybe even both of the brothers are in on this, he tells himself. Ray shakes his head, and bluffs as convincingly as he knows how. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are.”_

_The voice sighs. “Leave him a little longer. Maybe he’ll be more cooperative later on.”_

**_Saturday, April 5 th, 1997 8pm_ **

Five weeks, two days in, and Ray hated the fucking cops. Hated them with a passion.

 

“Boss,” Stevie said in a low voice. “They’re here again.”

 

Ray managed not to groan. _You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me._ “I’m sorry,” he told Tarasov. “Something has come up – Jackie will be here soon. He can discuss business. In the meantime… enjoy the amenities.” He made a generous spreading gesture with his hand as he stood, indicating the dancers. “I’m sure you’ll find something to your taste.”

_Of course, it’s not just the fucking cops I hate,_ he told himself. _Me and Armando._ His brother was sitting next to Tarasov, and gave Ray an amused shrug. Yeah, figured Armando wasn’t about to give him moral support – or immoral when it came to that. One of the few benefits of being dead – the cops couldn’t arrest you. Ray flashed a look of loathing at his brother, for less than a second, before turning to the policemen with a smile. Three of them… no. Make that four. They meant business.

 

“I take it,” Ray said, shrugging his way back into his jacket, “that you’re not here to check on the liquor licence?”

 

“No, Sir. We have a warrant for your arrest.” The cop who spoke kept his voice down.  He obviously knew the score – don’t arrest the Bookman in front of an international client while physically surrounded by the fucker’s bodyguards. The policeman nodded his head toward the door. “If you’ll step outside.”

 

“Certainly.” Ray lifted his tumbler from the table, and emptied the remnants of his drink down his throat in one easy swallow. He nodded to his bodyguards that it was alright. “Tarasov,” he said to the Russian. _“_ _My budem govorit' pozzhe_ _.”_ He was pretty sure he’d said it right – _‘we’ll speak later.’_ His brother’s extensive library contained a few well-worn phrasebooks – apparently Mando had learned some sentences by heart in a dozen languages. It went down well with the foreign clients if they thought you were trying. And as Ray had explained once to Benny, it had always worked on women. Besides, it made people think he was some kind of crazy-ass multilingual genius. So what if Armando and Ray were bull-shitters together? The Bookman had a reputation to maintain.

 

Tarasov was too distracted to worry about Ray’s accent anyway. _“Da, da,”_ he agreed, eyes on everyone but the cops. He came out with a string of incomprehensible gobbledygook. Ray assumed the man was thanking him for his hospitality, and grinned. _“Ya ponimayoo,”_ he lied, although he didn’t understand at all. It was simply too much fun to wind up the cops. Tarasov groaned and closed his eyes as one of the more self-assured dancers approached, and straddled his lap.

 

 _Good woman…_ She flicked her blonde hair and started grinding her ass on the Russian’s ample paunch. She smirked at Ray and winked. She was obviously trying to spare ‘the Boss’ some embarrassment. What was her name? Hailey? Kelly? A quick thinker whoever she was. The way she was moving, Tarasov would only know that Ray had been called away on unexpected business – not that he had been arrested _again._ Hopefully, this wouldn’t take long.

 

“Five times in five weeks,” Ray pointed out, as they left the club. “Once when _I_ was the one being shot at, and four times since for Sarah’s death. Three times you’ve interrupted a business meeting, and every single time you’ve come up with nothing. You know why? Because I had nothing to do with it. You guys getting off on this? You should be looking for the Onofris.” _Fucking bastard lawyer Pender. Why hasn’t he sorted this out already? He said he’d sorted it out._

 

“Mind yourself,” one of the younger cops said, trying to look hard, as Ray got into the back of the blue and white. Fucker put his hand on Ray’s head and pushed him down – as though Ray was resisting, or reluctant to get in. Wasn’t like Ray had never done that to a suspect before, but now he knew just how damn annoying that ‘take charge’ gesture was. Which was why cops did it, of course. Still, it was only a gesture. There were no teeth behind it.

 

Ray settled in the back of the police car as comfortably as if it was a limo, and yawned through it while the young cop remembered to Mirandize him. It pissed cops off if you weren’t scared. Ray knew that one for a fact. He also knew that when _he_ was a cop, especially with Benny to back him up, he’d have been frisking a bastard like the Bookman in public – but then Ray always was a fucking lunatic. These guys, he told himself, were pussies. They’d wait till they got to booking to take his guns.

 

 _Yeah, all the good it did, playing hardball with Zuko, back when I was a cop._ He closed his eyes and pretended to doze off. _Ever since we were kids, playing cops and robbers. And then someone ends up dead…_

He did sleep for a little while in the back of the car, because Sarah was next to him. Or maybe it was Irene. She rested her fingers on his hand. He smiled, and opened his eyes, but whoever it was had gone.

 

**_Sunday, April 7 th, 1997. 10:45 am_ **

 

By the time they let him out of the holding cell, he was sick, and shaking. Not a lot, but enough that he could feel it. Thank God his hands were out of sight, or they’d all know he was a fucking coward.

 

“Mr Langoustini.” Detective Burns slapped his hand down on the table, startling Ray back to full alertness. _God I’m exhausted…_ “Answer the question. What were you doing between two and four am, on Saturday the eighth of March?”

 

Wow, for such a little guy, he could sure dominate a room.

 

“I’ve told you already,” Ray gritted out through clenched teeth. “I passed out drunk in my son’s bedroom.” _God Almighty, how many times is he going to ask me the same question? How long have I been here anyway?_ He’d spent the whole night in the cage with winos, and schizos and junkies, not able to sleep.

 

It wasn’t just the noise from the other inmates, though that didn’t help. It was the fact that his sleeping tablets were back at Armando’s place. He couldn’t even check his fancy-schmancy watch for the time. They had taken that from him, along with his guns, his tie, his vest, his cufflinks, his jacket, the contents of his pockets, including a compass, and his shoes. Finally, his mother’s cross.

 

No blanket, and the temperatures dropped at night, so, he’d even been cold. _That’s why I’m shaking. Not because I’m afraid._

 

“According to your household staff,” Burns’ voice dragged him, again, to the present, “you weren’t in your son’s room all night.”

 

“Oh? And how the fuck would they know?” _What fucking bastard was talking to the cops? It’s not Nero… has to be one of the cleaners. Who was cleaning that day? I’ll fire the fucking bitch._

 

“Not to be too delicate about it, Mr Langoustini, you’d thrown up in your ‘rec’ room.”

 

“That’s your whole case? So I stumbled drunk from one room to the other and threw up on my own carpet. Is that against the law?”

 

“No. What is against the law is lying to the police and giving false alibis. Both of which you’ve done.”

 

“Look, I’ve lied to nobody.” Ray would have rubbed his eyes, but when they brought him to the interview room they’d bound his hands behind him. This time, they’d gone for plastic ties rather than cuffs. Even though he didn’t have to use the splint anymore, his left hand was throbbing, and he’d have been much happier if it was resting on the table. He was fairly sure the cops knew it, and were doing this deliberately to add to his level of discomfort. “All I know is that I left Sarah at the hotel, did some business with my brothers, went home with Sal and Jackie, and got drunk as a skunk. That’s it.”

 

“What ‘business’ did you do with your cousins? Anything to do with your new casino?”

 

“Not that _our_ ‘business’ is any of _your_ ‘business,’ but just paperwork.”

 

“I see.”

 

 _Does he?_ Ray wondered. _He asked about the casino. He never asked about that before. Does he see? Because I didn’t kill Sarah – Anya – but I did kill…_

“You should be looking for the Onofris,” Ray closed his eyes for a moment. He felt a little more damned every time he told this lie. “They vanished right after Sarah died. Why don’t you ask the Feds?” he scoffed, hoping Johnny and the rest of them got to see this. He could show how much he hated the Feds on camera and get away with it. Pretend he was acting. “They’ve got the fuckers stashed away somewhere.”

 

For a second then, he saw them, father and son; the Onofris, standing behind Burns. Their faces were grey as the concrete they slept in, adorned with neat little bullet holes, at the midpoint of the forehead, right where Armando’s secretary, Padma wore her _bindi_ dot. Ray shook his head, and they vanished. These, he knew, were not ghosts. Ghosts felt different. This was just a guilty conscience.

 

“So,” Burns mused, ignoring Ray’s tirade. “You were ‘drunk as a skunk.’ Can you explain again why?”

 

“Oh, fuck off. My whole family died. My son just died.”

 

“Yet, you were in a hotel room with his doctor, having sex only hours after his death. That doesn’t strike me as the act of a grieving father or husband.”

 

“Fuck you,” Ray snapped. “You know nothing. One minute you’re saying I killed her because I blame her for Joey’s death, next minute you’re saying I was fucking her. Make your damn mind up.”

 

“You know what I think, Langoustini? I think you took it very personally. I think you took it so personally you did it yourself. You’re the kind of sick bastard who’d get off on it. Poor woman probably felt bad – what doctor doesn’t when they lose a kid? And you played her sympathy, fucked her brains out, and then you shot her brains out.”

 

Ray hitched in breath, like he’d been punched in the stomach. He knew they thought that – they’d implied it often enough – but it had never been stated quite so baldly before.

 

_Fuck…_

 

Burns was watching his reaction with interest. Ray steadied himself, schooled his face. If he lost his temper he’d only give them an excuse to hold him longer. Besides, this sudden change of tactics might be a good thing. They’d never held him overnight before, and even Burns had never been so direct in his questioning. Something had changed. They either thought they had something, or they knew they were running out of options and trying to break him before it was too late.

 

“Where’s my lawyer anyway?” Ray rolled his head, and felt a crack in his neck. His shoulders were starting to ache. “I’ve been here all night.” _Come to that, where are the fucking Feds? They know I’m stuck in here._ He nearly laughed. _Maybe I should do what all the villains do – tell this guy I want Witness Protection, and get out of here._

The Feds would have been here in a shot if he really was the Bookman, ready to flip.

 

“Your lawyer is engaged in other business.”

 

“Other…” Ray’s heart froze. Pender only had two other clients – Jackie and Sal. That could only mean one of them had been arrested. Maybe even both. “Look,” Ray said, “I don’t know what you got, or what you think you got, but I did not kill Sarah. I had no motive. She didn’t kill Joey. He just died.”

 

So far Ray hadn’t stepped outside the story that the brothers had concocted, that all three of them had been together all night, but God, sometimes he just wanted to break ranks, and screw the FBI and this whole damn operation. _Fuck,_ he suddenly realised. _What if the Feds just hang me out to dry? Would they actually let me go to jail, and expect me to keep cover? What the hell do those fuckers want me to do?_

 

Burns was nodding, looking thoughtful. “So,” he said, and sat on the table. “Joey just died. And, you didn’t blame Sarah?”

 

“No,” Ray’s voice was tight. He missed her – which was stupid. He hardly knew her. Sometimes in his dreams he thought he knew her name but… He didn’t even know that. Joey was safe, that was all he knew. Somewhere in Witness Protection, with his mother. “No. I don’t blame Sarah.” Sarah had saved Armando’s family – what was left of it. Even if he hadn’t fallen in love with her, he’d have been forever grateful. “I don’t blame Sarah at all.”

 

“Would you like some water, Mr Langoustini?”

 

Oh, that’s right – the old switcheroo. Burns was famous for it. Usually you needed two cops for the routine to work, but Burns could pull it off. Good cop, bad cop. Ray started laughing. Good cop, bad cop, crazy cop. _God, I miss Benny._

 

Oh fuck. That nearly did it. Ray put his head on the table and breathed steadily. He was _not_ going to let Burns see him crying. What the hell was he crying about Benny for anyway? Benny was away in Chicago, or for all he knew back in Canada. Benny didn’t need him.

 

_Shit. Five weeks in, and I’m about to start sobbing in an interview room, and they’re filming through the window, and every fucking cop in Nevada is hoping for the Bookman to break down. Do not fuck this up, Vecchio. Do not cry._

 

The metal table was screwed to the floor, as was his metal chair. Ray concentrated on the sensation of cold against his forehead, and squeezed his eyes tight shut. Any dampness would drop onto the table top rather than run down his cheek. Best he could do since he couldn’t wipe his face. He blinked hard, then sat up, with attitude, and grinned.

 

He caught his reflection in the mirror, and grinned even harder. It worked. Outside the room nobody would have caught the moment of weakness. You’d never guess, looking at that pumpkin smile that he’d been at the point of tears. You’d think he was a psychopath with too many teeth. Burns had noticed though, the fucker. He’d glanced at the little drops of wet on the table. Damn bastard noticed everything.

 

“Actually,” Ray joked. “What I really want is a piss, but it’s kinda difficult under the circumstances.”

 

Burns laughed, like he hadn’t noticed a thing. “I think we can manage to un-cuff you. You seem to have cooperated so far.” He stood, and tapped on the door of the interview room. It opened slightly, and a middle aged woman poked her head around the door. “I think Mr Langoustini should see our doctor now,” Burns said. “I’m sure his wrists must be uncomfortable.” The woman nodded, and disappeared.  Burns walked casually around the table, and with a snick released Ray’s hands.

 

“Owh, Jeez…” Ray heard himself, and realised he sounded very Ray, and very un-Armando. He should be swearing his head off or playing it cool. He shook his hands to get circulation going, then finally got to rest his left hand on the table, unobtrusively wiping the tears from the surface as he did so. Burns’ eyes tracked the movement. _Great, he noticed that too._ Under normal circumstances, Ray would have thought Burns was one hell of a cop. Right now, he was just an irritating bastard. Fuck… and as if that wasn’t bad enough, it felt as though Ray’s whole heart was pounding through the tightness of his injured palm. He bit his tongue.

 

“’Jeez?’” Burns looked amused as he sat back down on the table. _That’s not just to rest his ass, that’s taking a dominant position, trying to see if he can intimidate me, make me feel like a kid._

 

“Yeah. As in, _‘Jeez Louise. Owy, I got a booboo.’”_ Ray grinned again, lifted his hand and played the game. “You wanna kiss it better?”

 

“Not particularly.” Burns sounded like he was trying not to smile. The door opened, and the detective stood. “I’ll step out while the doctor has a look at you.”

 

“I need a piss more than I need a doctor.”

 

“When the doctor’s finished with you, I’ll find some pretty young police ladies to escort you.”

 

Ray sniggered – he knew he shouldn’t, but it was kinda funny. “You guys have arrested me so much I’m getting Stockholm Syndrome,” he quipped. “I’m laughing at your crap jokes.” He rolled his eyes as the doctor stepped in. Not one he’d ever met before. Some locum or other. “Okay, Sawbones, let me have it.”

 

 _Better than that, send in Pender,_ he thought, as the doctor examined him. Ray glanced at the mirror. His own face looked back – thank God. He’d refused to grow his brother’s moustache. At least this way when he looked in the mirror he knew who was looking back at him.

 

 _Shit,_ he realised, seeing his naked expression. _Hope the fuckers have stopped filming._ He slammed the Bookman mask back down, and hoped nobody had noticed Ray Vecchio peeping out, like a scared child. He knew at times Welsh bent the rules and left the camera running; he wasn’t the only cop to do it. _Don’t worry. It was only a moment._ The doc didn’t try to chitchat or get in his head like the last one, so he was probably okay. It was mainly his hands the guy was bothered about. And as for the slight tremor in Ray’s fingers, the man didn’t even mention it. He was probably used to prisoners having the shakes.

 

 _Fuck, I need to know what the hell is going on._ Things were still risky right now. The Iguana brothers were in the middle of taking over Nevada; the cops arresting their _consigliere_ all the time wasn’t just bad for business, it was fucking dangerous. Made everyone look weak. That was bad enough, but if Jackie or Sal got dragged in, then all the gains the brothers had made over the last month could easily be lost, not to mention the Russian deal. Ray had seen this same war played out in miniature in Chicago. Zuko had been sent to prison for the attempted murder of a cop – Ray, as it happened – and second degree manslaughter. _Don’t think about Irene._ By the time Zuko’s lawyers got him out, Warfield had taken over everything.

 

The big difference here was that there was a scattering of little families who might try to take advantage, as opposed to one big opponent. Ray had taken out the big opponent, expecting it to stabilise their position. _And it woulda done too, if it hadn’t been for them pesky cops._ All of which meant they had no way of predicting what would happen next.

 

 _‘You and your clever shit,’_ Jackie told him, last time he’d been arrested. _‘You forgot all about the cops screwing things up.’_

Yeah, well, Ray hadn’t expected them to be this fucking relentless.

 

By the time the doctor had finished with him, and he’d finally managed to empty his bladder he really did want to be sick. The toilet was no bigger than a closet, and the door didn’t lock. If he took too long in here one of the cops would just pull it open and catch him with his dick hanging out. He flushed with shame at the idea and finished his business. He splashed water on his face, caught a glimpse of himself in the plastic mirror and winced. Close up, he needed a shave, and his face was grey. Shit.

 

Thank fuck though, Pender was waiting when he got back to the interview room.

 

“Where the hell have you been?”

 

“I’m sorry, Armando,” the lawyer said smoothly. “Jackie came in to make a statement last night, and I had to come with him.”

 

“Jackie came in? He wasn’t arrested?”

 

“Yes. After he concluded the business with Tarasov, he came in.” Pender steepled his fingers, examined his nails.

 

Ray felt his mouth go dry. “So, now you’re gonna tell me there’s a conflict of interest, and you can’t represent me.”

 

“That may be the case someway down the line, in which case we would find you alternative council, but just for now, I’m here to tell you that you’re free to go.”

 

 _What the fuck did Jackie say?_ Ray felt something fluttering in his gut – an instinct – cop instinct he’d have called it once. _Jackie’s setting me up._

His face must have given the game away. “Don’t worry,” Pender said. “Jackie’s looking out for you. He came in to tell the police that he wasn’t with you all night.”

 

“He didn’t –” _fucking shitting bastard piece of scum –_ “How does that help me?”

 

“He says you were too drunk to do anything, and the only one of you with no alibi is him. And that if you could be motivated in revenge of your son, he could be just as much of a suspect, given Joey was his nephew.”

 

“Shit.” Ray stared at Pender, then realised he probably looked like a dead fish, the way his jaw was hanging open. _Why would Jackie put himself in the firing line like this?_ “He didn’t confess to anything did he?” _This didn’t make sense._ “It was Onofri, for God’s sake.” _Jackie would never go to the police about anything. And Onofri killed Sarah – everyone knows that._

“He didn’t confess, because as you know there was nothing to confess. He simply presented himself as a credible alternative, because he knew it would create reasonable doubt in the mind of any jury, and get the cops off your back.”

 

“He…” Ray flushed, embarrassed by his unworthy suspicions. “He think of that himself?”

 

“Yes, as it happens.” Pender looked annoyed at not being able to take the credit. “I had considered it, but not mentioned the possibility because – frankly I didn’t expect either of your cousins would consider it worth the risk.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Ray beamed, suddenly warm in his chest. “You underestimated Jackie.” For a happy moment he felt as though Jackie was his own cousin – brother – stepping up to the plate to save him.

 

Then he remembered. Jackie was a mobster, and he, Ray, was a snitch for the FBI. Not only that, but a murderer.

 

“Come on,” Pender said. “Let’s get you processed and out of here.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe they took your shoes.”

 

“I’ll get everything back in the end,” Ray said. “I always do.”

 

Sal was waiting for him at the back of the police station, rather than the parking lot round the front. If seen they might be able to bluff it and say they had business with the unions running the Mandalay project – but it would only slow the rumours down. _Waste of effort,_ Ray thought, _we’ve got our own build, and it has nothing to do with Mandalay. If anything, it’ll just make folks more suspicious. We should stop sneaking around every time I get pulled in. Just shrug and swagger it off._ He’d suggested it, but for once Sal turned down his _consigliere’s_ advice, so – here they were, failing to be invisible.

 

“Fuck, Mando, you look like shit.”

 

“Well, you don’t look any better,” Ray lied. Sal had dressed down, presumably trying not to draw attention to himself.  Bastard looked better in jeans and a tee-shirt than Ray did in his slightly crumpled Armani. _Fucking show off,_ Ray thought, though it was hardly Sal’s fault what he looked like. “I need those,” he stated, and plucked the sunglasses of his cousin’s face. Actually, he really did need them. He’d obviously turned into some kind of vampire – the sunlight was piercing daggers in his eyes, and his head was killing him.

 

“What did they do to you in there?” Sal walked alongside him to the Lincoln.

 

“Nothing. Holding cell was noisy, didn’t get any sleep.” _Didn’t get a visit from Armando either. Piece of shit._

 

Sal’s eyes darkened. “Let’s see your wrists.”

 

Ray sighed, and held out his arms. Sal lifted the left wrist, turned it to see the welts. Ray clenched his fist, even though it stung the palm, to cover the shakes. Sal caught the tremor though.

 

“Every fucking time,” Sal growled. “They know you need physio on that arm. Does it hurt?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

“Yeah, well, we’ll slap another lawsuit on the bastards. Not just harassment, actual bodily harm. Can we do that, Val?”

 

Pender gave a stately nod, like a priest. “Certainly,” he said. “We’ll get a medical report from a sympathetic doctor and…”

                                                                                  

 _Poor fucking cops,_ Ray thought, remembering what this was like from the other side. _Fucking Mafia bastards think we can run roughshod all over them, and we can._

 

“Hey,” Sal brightened. “You hear what Jackie did?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray settled on the passenger side. “Jackie succeeded where three quarters of a mil a year and a fuck load of kickbacks failed.” He glanced over his shoulder at Pender on the backseat, and gave him a filthy look. “Just so you know, our _capo bastone’s_ a fucking genius, and you’re an idiot.”

 

“Well, genius or not,” Pender said, with one of his unpleasantly thin smiles, “he’s smarter than the LVPD. They’ll have to stop harassing you now, Armando, since they know between you and Jackie you’d hang a jury. Not that the police ever had any physical evidence at all – just gossip and innuendo.”

 

“I’d love to know who the gossips are this time.” Ray scowled.

 

“Don’t worry, Mando,” Sal assured him. “We’re looking into it.”

 

“Great. But before we go busting balls, I just wanna get home, get cleaned up, and get some fucking shut eye.” Finally, he could lie down somewhere, stop thinking. Not thinking about things was the answer to everything.

 

“Yeah,” Sal apologised. “About that… you won’t get much time to sleep.”

 

“Oh?” Ray put a snarl in his voice, but closed his eyes wearily behind the shades, where nobody could see it. And why’s that?”

 

“We need to nip any more rumours in the bud. Cops keep arresting you, it looks bad. So, you need to show your face at the Executive Game. Nobody’s gonna expect you, and you’ll scare the shit out of ’em.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ray sighed. “Business as fucking usual.”

 

“Yeah.” The frown line between Sal’s eyebrows deepened a little, as he took in Ray’s appearance. “You sure you’re up for it?”

 

“I’m up for it.” Ray made himself smile. “I can’t believe those fucking degenerates are still playing.” Ray used to gamble himself, all cops did, but the Bookman was famous for never touching a card. And having seen fortunes lost at the ‘Executive Game’ Ray was pretty sure he’d never gamble again – not even with Benny for candy.

 

“Well,” Sal started the car, “use one of the suites to get cleaned up, maybe have an hour’s shut-eye, then swagger on in there like you own the place.”

 

“We do own the place.”

 

Sal laughed as he looked over his shoulder and backed out of the parking lot. It was an old joke.

 

**_3:32pm_ **

 

As soon as Ray appeared on the floor the manager scuttled up to him, with a rictus of fear on his face. Presumably Herzog thought he was smiling.

 

“Mr Langoustini, we’re so honoured you could join us –”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ray dismissed Herzog with a jerk of his chin, and gazed sharply at the room. Even though he’d not got any sleep, he’d showered, shaved, changed, and finally managed to take some pills – not his own, but it was somebody’s prescription. He was feeling better.

 

The gamers had been playing since Saturday night, and the table was stacked high with multi-coloured chips. “So, who’s at the table? Anyone new?”

 

“Oh – uhm. There’s a new lady. And a Japanese gentleman…”

 

Ray looked at the Japanese gambler. _Yakuza._ “Yeah, he’s a friend of mine. Don’t let him lose everything, and if you can, try and let him win just enough to go home happy.”

 

“Yes, Sir. I’ll try.” Herzog’s head bobbed eagerly. “What do we do about Smithson? He can’t cover his debt –”

 

“We talked about this. Of course he can cover his debt, just not the way he thinks he will. String him along till he’s drowning in it, then we use his businesses for a front. He’ll never be able to pay us back, we have other legitimate outlets.” _Until the poor bastard kills himself,_ Ray thought. _Nah. He’s like me – he’ll never have the guts._

 

“How’s the lady doing?”

 

“Not too well, but she’s got false confidence. If we let her carry on playing she’ll start losing big –”

 

Ray looked where Herzog was pointing, then shot an angry glare back at him. “Hey, numb-nuts, what the fuck do you do all day when I’m not around? Don’t you know who that is?”

 

“Uhm… well, we checked her credentials, but –”

 

“That’s Denny Scarpa, you moron. What are we paying Griffin for if you can’t be bothered to look at the damn mugshots?”

 

“I’m sorry, Mr Langoustini.”

 

Ray felt a fierce hatred for the man overwhelm him. Did Herzog have to be so – so fucking cringing? He’d do anything to accommodate the Mob. _Fucker might just as well roll on his back and let us tattoo ‘Welcome’ on his stomach. Fucking doormat._

 

“How the hell did you miss Lady Shoes?” Ray snarled. “So, she’s wearing a blonde wig – so what? Next time try looking at her face, not her tits.”

 

“Sorry, Mr Langoustini, I don’t know how this happened…”

 

“Fuck ‘sorry.’ Just do your job right next time. I can’t always be here to clean up after you. God.”

 

Herzog backed off, still muttering apologies. Ray strolled up to the table, putting on his most elegant, imperial smile.

 

Even in the middle of a hand his arrival was noticed _. Someone turned down the volume,_ Ray thought. He was getting used to having that effect on a room.

 

He circled the table, inclining his head so he could see each player’s hand. The French man fanned out his cards so Ray could see. He was shaking slightly – Ray wouldn’t have noticed Gouffet was afraid if the tiny tremor hadn’t been magnified by the cards. Ray patted the man’s shoulder. There was something unpleasantly satisfying about the fact that he could crack the cool of one of the stoniest faces at the poker table.

 

Finally he got to Scarpa’s chair, and leant over it from behind. Looked at her hand. She snapped the cards shut and covered them with her fingers. Either she didn’t know who he was, or she was courageous to the point of psychosis. Had to be the latter; the chances of a professional card player not knowing the Bookman were remote. Ray leant his face in close to hers, cheek to cheek, and the smile froze on her face. _Oh yeah, she knows me._

 

“Fold,” he told her, quietly.

 

“But –”

 

“Fold.”

 

She folded.

 

“Sorry to leave you boys,” she smiled, and gathered up her purse, “but I’ve been made a better offer.”

 

Ray stood back, cocked his head to one side, and offered his arm, as though he was a gentleman, and she was really a lady. “Come, Ante,” she called, and a ridiculous poodle emerged from under the table. She turned to Ray, and laid a hand flat against the lapels of his jacket _. Still playing poker then,_ he thought, as she trailed her fingers down his chest. _Crazy bitch really does have guts._ “I’m all yours,” she told him in a sultry voice.

 

 _Does she expect me to actually fall for this crap?_ He smiled at her heavy lidded gaze. Despite himself he felt a physical response. _Yeah,_ he conceded wryly. _I guess she does._

 

He didn’t have time for this. He’d had women coming on to him ever since his wife died… _Shit. What’s with my brain?_ That was the damn cover story. Ever since _Armando’s_ wife went into Witness Protection. Okay, so the Bookman was one vicious bastard, but apparently a lot of women were willing to overlook that. Just over a month ago, Ray had become an eligible bachelor – an eligible millionaire bachelor at that. He couldn’t beat the social climbing gold-diggers off with a stick.

 

His lips lifted in a bitter smile at the irony. Now that he had no shortage of women, he found he didn’t want any of them. The only person he had been interested in was –

 

Fuck it. He was _not_ thinking about Sarah.

 

It wasn’t him these women were interested in anyway – it wasn’t even Armando. It was just money, and power. And this woman, Denny Scarpa – God knew what her game was. Money, certainly. Thought she could manipulate him, seduce him into turning a blind eye so that he’d let her run around his casinos and clean them out. Well, she didn’t know the Bookman if she thought Ray could be won over that easily.

 

“One drink,” he told her, as he led her off the floor and away from the game. “We’ll sit at the bar together, and pretend to be civilised. One drink, then you’re outta here. I do not want to see you ever again. You understand?”

 

She drifted her eyes up and down his body, and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to see me again? That’s a terrible shame – I would have thought a man like you was the type to make a woman feel appreciated.”

 

Ray did not like this woman. He returned her scrutiny, taking in her appearance from the strappy high heels, the slinky dress, the scooped neckline, all the way up to her patrician face, framed by what was either a very expensive wig, or recently dyed hair. She suited the look. This was a woman who knew how to use her assets.

 

The last woman who gave him a vibe like this was…

 

“You remind me of someone I used to know,” he said.

 

“You miss her?”

 

“Oh yeah.” Ray brushed her hair back behind her ear. On closer inspection it was a wig – made from real human hair. They sold their hair in India, didn’t they? He wondered about the woman who’d sold her hair for this. Wondered how much she’d been paid, how much the mark-up was after the wig manufacturers dyed it, wove it, styled it. “Yeah,” he said. “I missed her. Won’t make that mistake twice.”

 

He leant in close, nearly touching her cheek, and cupped his hand round her head. “One drink,” he whispered in her ear. Her breath hitched, and he could see her pulse speeding up in her throat. “One drink, then you’re gone.” He smiled at her fear, and feathered her face with a kiss. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

 

**_6:02pm_ **

 

“Hey, Cuz.” No sooner had Ray entered the Bacchus than Jackie bounded to his feet and gave him a bear hug. For once Ray returned it with genuine enthusiasm. _‘Jackie really does love you,’_ he thought at his brother, who was standing at his cousin’s side, a faint smile playing on his lips. _So that’s where he was when I was in lock up. Keeping an eye on Jackie._ _‘Okay, you’re right,’_ Ray silently conceded, although his brother hadn’t said a word to him in weeks. _‘He’s not all bad.’_ He found himself admiring Jackie’s dedication to _famiglia._ The man might not have many virtues, but what virtue he did have, he had in spades.

 

“Thanks Jackie,” he broke the hug, and sat down at the table. “What can I say? You’re a rock star.”

 

“Runs in the family.” Jackie was smiling, uncharacteristically, which was normally a sign that he was going to beat the shit out of someone. On this occasion he just looked happy. “I ordered already,” he said, sitting back down. “Thought we’d try the _saltimbocca_ _.”_

 

“Yeah, thanks.”

 

“So, how did it go with the gamers?”

 

Ray rolled his eyes. “Herzog’s a dick,” he said. “You’ll never guess who he let sit in at the game.”

 

“Who?” Jackie furrowed his eyebrows and leant forward, his elbows on the table. _Nonna Esposito woulda had a fit…_

 

“Only Lady Shoes.”

 

“You’re kidding.” Jackie’s incredulity was almost comical – his jaw hung open for a moment. “You’re not kidding.” He shook his head. “What do we pay that fucker Herzog _for?”_

 

“I got no idea.” Ray ran his right hand over the crown of his head. He still wasn’t used to the roughness of his palm against his skin, and wondered briefly if the scars would get smoother as they faded. And how bad the left would look… Stupid really. Who cared? “I mean, fuck’s sake,” he said, as the food arrived.  “A mistake like that, you gotta wonder if he’s doing it deliberately.” No sooner than he’d said it he was cursing himself for a fool. Of course, Jackie picked up on it immediately.

 

“You don’t think he is, do you?” His cousin was glowering now. “Doing it deliberately? I mean, he coulda been working a deal with her.”

 

 _Great. Me and my big mouth._ It was quite possible Herzog really was in on it – he was scared of the Iguanas, but people got greedy, and in this city greed was stronger than fear. Still - Jackie didn’t need to know Ray’s suspicions. _If I’m not careful I’m gonna get another guy killed…_ “Nah. He’s just an idiot. She probably fluttered her eyelids, and pushed her bosom in his face, and he completely forgot to look in the book.”

 

“You’d not forget that mugshot.” Jackie smirked. “She’s a fox.”

 

“Yeah. Wily like one too. You know she came onto me?”

 

“Oh yeah?” Jackie started cutting the meat. “And what did you do about it?”

 

Ray kept a straight face, even though it suddenly seemed funny. “Told her to get out, or I’d shoot her.”

 

Jackie sucked his cheeks in, trying not to laugh. “You’re hopeless, Cuz,” he said, then started cackling at his own joke. “At least you shoulda fucked her first.”

 

Ray was laughing himself when…

 

Benny. Standing at the table, in his brown uniform, as cool and calm as a sommelier. _Oh God._ Ray choked on his wine at the hallucination. _What the fuck am I doing here?_

“Don’t worry.” The worst thing was Benny’s eyes. He didn’t judge him, and he lied. “It’ll be alright.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**_Date Unknown:_ **

_-“You haven’t answered the question.” The woman’s voice jolts him awake. He groans. It’s always the same woman. “When did you first realise you were being betrayed?”_

_“_ _I don’t know,” Ray mumbles into the darkness. There’s someone else in here – he can feel it. Some other eyes watching him. Shit, I can’t get the ropes undone… Not rope, too tight … duct tape._

_“When did you first realise?_

_“_ _I don’t know.”_

_“Sure you do. That’s why you went to the Feds, isn’t it? In revenge for your family?”_

_Oh, thank God, whoever they are, they still think I’m Armando –_

_“The Feds can fuck themselves. I don’t care who you are, you know I’d never betray my brothers.”_

_Someone strikes him hard about the head, and he sees stars. Not the woman. That’s a man’s fist. It slams into his face again, and she laughs. “We don’t care.”_

 

**_28 th April, Monday, 1997. 3:30 pm_ **

 

Johnny opened, as always, by using his name. “How you doing, Ray?”

 

Ray answered, as usual, by lying. “Fine.” He unstrapped his watch, and handed it over to the waiting technician. The woman quietly left the room, to download any images Ray had managed to take. Most of it was useless, known associates talking to other known associates, though he had at least managed to start snapping images of the actual accounts. Armando was more controllable these days. Oh, he turned up, like a bad smell, or a lingering headache, but he didn’t seem to have a lot to say.

 

Of course, the doctor thought it was the meds. And there might be something to that – the sleeping tablets helped. Ray had discovered other ways to shut up the dead fucker – downers helped even more than what the Feds prescribed. Not that he wasn’t going to tell the Feds about that, though it was their fault he’d figured it out. He’d never have thought of pills before they started doling them out like candy.

 

As for Pa – well, maybe the old fuck had gone for good, now that he’d succeeded in ruining Ray, as well as Armando. _God, I hope he leaves Paulie alone…_ Ray shrugged it off. What was he worrying about? Pa had never paid any attention to little Paulie… that was half the reason the schmuck ran off to Florida and never called. Besides, why was Ray even thinking about Paulie? He didn’t have a family anymore.

 

“You sure you’re okay?” Johnny proffered a cup of coffee, and took one of his own. “You’re looking tired.”

 

Ray sat, and said nothing. He was always tired, and Johnny fucking knew it. The doctor knew it, the brothers knew it. Everyone who mattered knew it. What did the Feds think he was anyway? A robot?

 

Johnny sat down, smiled like they were regular friends, and commenced the interview.

 

“What’s been happening?”

 

“Well, no thanks to you, the police finally closed the official investigation into Sarah’s death. Lack of evidence.”

 

“Yeah,” Johnny’s face went tight. He was probably sick of Ray bringing that one up. “Well, we couldn’t come trampling all over that, or we’d have risked blowing your cover. We wouldn’t have let you go to prison.”

 

“So you kept telling me.” Ray sipped his coffee. _Not that prison would be any worse than this._ “Anyway, Jackie’s decided that this calls for a celebration, but apparently we have some business first.”

 

“Did he say what kind of business?”

 

“No. He didn’t.”  Ray watched Johnny closely, and _oh yeah. There it is._ That moment of discomfort. Johnny looked away, and Ray had a moment’s ugly gratification knowing the guy felt bad. _Yeah, you should feel bad._ Johnny knew, just as well as Ray did, what _that_ kind of business was. Ray gave a one-shouldered shrug. “So, I’ll probably be up all night, and shot to shit in the morning.”

 

There were two great unspoken secrets between Ray and the Feds, which both sides knew, and neither could admit. This unspoken didn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that Ray had become a murderer. In fact… it didn’t matter much at all. Ray danced around admitting it outright – he hadn’t told them but they probably guessed. He knew he was drinking too much. As for the rest of it, even if they did guess – well, how else was he meant to get up in the middle of the night after he’d taken a sleeping pill?

 

It wasn’t a problem. He’d only had to do it a few times.

 

Johnny turned his head away, and said nothing. _Oh shit. Maybe he knows._ Ray looked at him, and felt unaccountably dizzy. _When the fuck did this become my life?_ Boring paperwork for the most part, but at any moment he might be called on to kick the crap out of some poor bastard. Most of the time he was the Bookman, then he was talking to the Feds. Ray couldn’t figure out whether these debriefs were more about sharing information or keeping secrets. There was a lot of stuff he didn’t tell the Feds – and yeah, he could see it in Johnny’s eyes, the swift flicker sometimes when he tightened his mouth to swallow a word. What was it that Johnny wasn’t allowed to tell Ray?

 

“We’ll book you an appointment for the afternoon, if you think it will help.”

 

“What, like a therapy session?” Ray laughed. “I’ll try to make it.” He paused. “Though, you know, the brothers don’t like it. Specially Jackie. You know what he’s like.” Ray looked down at his scarred hands, clenched and unclenched them. _Better now._ “We can’t look weak, and me visiting the hospital so much looks weak. It’s been a couple of months.”

 

“Okay,” Johnny nodded. “We’ve been thinking the same, and are working on a couple of solutions. But we need your medical records to look realistic, in case someone comes digging them out.”

 

“Would they?”

 

“You know they would.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So, another month at least. A miraculous recovery might make them suspicious. Another month, we’ll have a new venue.” Johnny smiled. “We’re securing a diner we can meet at. I think you’ll like it. So, don’t worry.”

 

“Oh, you know me, I don’t worry about anything.” Ray lifted his coffee mug and said it, just because he knew it pissed Johnny off. “Eight weeks, three days in. Still not dead.”

 

**_9:55 pm_ **

 

Jackie was lounging at the carport, beneath Ray’s office building, smoking a cigarette.

 

“Cuz.”

 

 _Shit. He really is in a bad mood._ The guy looked like he’d just swallowed a wasp.

 

“Jackie. So. What’s happening?”

 

“I wanna go for a drive. You coming?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, feeling his mouth go dry at the coded reply. So, they really _were_ going to kick the ever loving crap out of somebody. “Sal coming along too?”

 

“We’ll meet him there.”

 

Sometimes ‘there’ was a warehouse, a basement, or an empty office after dark. This time ‘there’ was in the desert. As they got further from Vegas the sky changed, and the stars came out, sharp as glass. A different light entirely from the colourful dazzle of the Strip, which dropped, and dropped into the valley behind them. Ray looked at the night, seeking out familiar constellations. He wasn’t like Benny, he couldn’t have drawn them all from memory, but he knew the Bear, the Hunter. That’s what Nonna Esposita had called them, when she spoke English. For a moment he was overwhelmed with homesickness, although now he was remembering Canada – sitting by a campfire as Benny arranged pebbles, trying to teach him the houses of the Zodiac.

 

_‘Gonna read my horoscope, Benny?’_

_‘Oh no,’ tongue in cheek. ‘As a method of divination astronomy leaves a lot to be desired.’_

 

Jackie drove, taking routes that branched ever further away from well used paths. The track turned to gravel as they rose from the valley. By the time Ray’s ears had popped the road was dirt beneath them, the four by four had slowed down dramatically, and still Jackie hadn’t said a word. Two of Ray’s bodyguards, Rosso and Mark, rode in the back. Ray kept his window down, to let the dry air blow away the stench in the car. The men must have been working on the victim already. They smelled of sweat. Jackie stank of booze. _He shouldn’t be driving, specially not on roads like this._ Ray closed his eyes, thinking of a car flipping over in the dark, the night his brother died. _A car crash would end it,_ he thought, clinically. Jackie didn’t seem impaired though. Just grim, and silent.

 

“Here,” Jackie said, pulling up next to a car Ray recognised – one of Sal’s. Jackie flung his door open, and stood, waiting for Ray and the bodyguards to join him.

 

 _Oh fuck._ Panic rose Ray’s chest, abruptly, a sick wash of fear. It hit him in the stomach, a spike of acid, sharp as a stab. _It’s me._ Automatically Ray stepped out of the car. Apparently he did care if he died tonight. _Jackie’s made me, and he’s got me out here to kill me._

 

_Run. I should run now. I should…_

Where would he run anyway? He looked behind him – Rosso and Mark, faintly illuminated by the half moon, and the distant glow of Vegas far below. He looked ahead. Jackie, with the mountain to his back, his face in shadow. He glanced at the car, then back at his cousin. _Jackie has the keys. I’d have to hotwire it._ He didn’t have the tools, and so what if he had? _Stupid, bastard Vecchio._ He wouldn’t have time to get the car started, even if he lunged for it now. _Stupid, stupid._ He had a gun, and his first thought was still to run. He couldn’t outshoot these guys. He couldn’t run. He didn’t know the terrain like Jackie did, and even if he had, he couldn’t get anywhere on foot. Not before one of the three shot him.

 

_They’re not as good a shot as me…_

 

But oh fuck. The last time he fired a shot, and the time before, and the time before that…

 

Fredo, looking foolish, his father, trying to be brave. And Skoulodis… _Skoulodis…_

 

_If they’re gonna kill me, they’re gonna kill me. At least die like a man._

Jackie started the ascent. Ray followed, jerkily for a few seconds, before finding his balance. He straightened his back, firmed his jaw. _Please, don’t let it take too long. Don’t let me shit myself and cry like a fool._ And oh, God – there was worse than that. He hoped that – hoped he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of eternity with Armando and Pa. It hit him again. _I’m gonna go to hell when I die. Jackie’s gonna kill me, and I’m gonna go to hell._

 

The two bodyguards were bringing up the rear, and Armando kept pace on his left-hand side.

 

His brother’s presence did not reassure him.

 

They came to a halt at a heap of barren rubble. The earth wrinkled up like folds in a crumpled blanket, rocks piercing the sand like old bones. Sal was sitting on an outcrop, a _soldato_ standing on either side. His head was tilted back at the sky, eyes closed as though he was sunbathing. Behind him the earth continued to rise in complicated folds, twisting into barren peaks. They shaded into darkness and blotted out the stars.

 

At Sal’s feet one man was kneeling, hog-tied. Another lay on the dirt, similarly bound.

 

 _Oh thank God._ The relief made him dizzy. _Not me._ He closed his eyes, and hated himself. Two men were going to be tortured, and he was glad. Glad it was them, not him. _Two months in, still not dead._

 

Ray got a hold of himself. “Who we got here?” He jerked his chin at the bound men.

 

“Herzog,” Sal said. “The other guy’s from Onofri’s old crew.”

 

“Onofri?” Ray laughed. “You mean one of those little rats is still trying to come after us?” Fuck, how long were the aftershocks of this war going to carry on for? Which _sub capo_ or second cousin was it this time, trying to take over that fallen empire? _Bet you’re sorry now,_ Ray thought, and didn’t know what was uppermost in his mind – pity or contempt _._ “You mean Herzog was working for Onofri?”

 

Sal nodded, and Jackie spoke up. “Yeah, Cuz. That Lady Shoes crap got me thinking. You know, when you said, was he doing it deliberately? So I took a look, and –” he kicked Herzog in the small of the back, “here we are.”

 

 _Oh great, this is my fault._ Everything was his fault – Sarah dead, these two men, beaten and bloody. _Shit. How’m I gonna do this?_ Ray looked at the prisoners. Onofri’s man completely prostrate, Herzog kneeling, bent over his stomach like it hurt – a courtier kowtowing to his king. Sal even looked like a king, perched upon a stony throne.

_We’ll rough ’em up,_ Ray thought, _leave ’em to find their own way home. Or…  I’ll get a message to the Feds… I’m seeing Johnny tomorrow. I’ll make it morning, I don’t care how wrecked I am. Get someone up here to look for ’em before they die of dehydration. We do a good enough job on their faces, we’ll still get the message through – don’t mess with the Iguanas._

 

Okay. That was some kind of plan. _I can get ’em outta here,_ Ray thought, assessing his options. _I stopped ’em killing Murphy,_   _I can do it again._

 

Ray nodded at Sal and Jackie, to show he understood the situation, and flexed his hands, letting the knuckles crack. _Nobody’s gotta die here,_ he told himself. _I just gotta make ’em think they will._

Ray stepped up swiftly to the prisoners and grabbed Herzog by the hair. “You were dealing with Onofri?” Herzog moaned what sounded like ‘no’ through his gag.

 

“What’s that? I can’t hear you.” Ray twisted his fingers through the guy’s hair, and jerked his head back, hard. _Shit. I’m interrogating a guy in a gag. That’s kinda pointless..._ Someone was laughing. He felt it in his face and chest. Laughing fit to cry. He turned to Sal and held out his hand. Sal leant forward, casually, still perched on his crag, and pulled a knife out of his boot.

 

Herzog started moaning through the gag.

 

Ray stopped grinning, and caught his breath. “Shut up, you fucking girl.” Pa was in his head – no. Not in his head, because he was standing at Ray’s shoulder. _Oh fuck. Now you turn up._ Where was Armando? _Shit. Just me and the Old Man._ Ray turned from his father’s approving smile, back to Herzog. “How about you grow a fucking pair? You wanna die like this?” He sniffed, and pulled a face. “Oh, fucking hell.” He stepped back, horrified, the Bookman still speaking through his mouth. “He’s only gone and pissed himself.”

 

“God’s sake. You fucking baby.” Jackie moved in and stood on Herzog’s other side. “Look at you,” the man said, “screaming like a whore in heat.” Ray made a disgusted noise, though whether at Jackie’s language, or Herzog’s cowardice he didn’t know. Maybe it was at how vile he had become to himself. He knelt in front of the prisoners, showed Herzog the knife.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, calmly, laying the flat of the blade against Herzog’s cheek.

 

The man went quiet, and his eyes went wild.

 

Ray smiled, and cut off the gag.

 

“Oh, oh, oh, God, thank you, God, sorry, thank you…”

 

“What part of ‘shut the fuck up’ don’t you understand?”

 

Herzog shut the fuck up.

 

“Now, you only speak when me or my brothers tell you to. You start blubbering, and I might just cut your eyes out.”

 

Herzog whimpered, but didn’t say anything.

 

“You’ve seen the vultures out here, haven’t you, Herzy? Big things. Wings wider than you’re tall. Bald things. Gotta be said, they’re ass-ugly.” Ray sat comfortably opposite him, folded his legs at the ankle, and smiled, like he was telling Maria’s kids a ghost story. “Well, me – I kinda like bald.” He passed his hand over his skull, as though he was making a joke, and shrugged. “These guys though, these vultures? You know why they’re bald? It’s so they don’t get blood stuck in their feathers. And you know what else? Their heads are red. Kinda cool – you can’t see the blood that way.”

 

Ray lifted the knife again, pressed the tip, lightly, at the base of Herzog’s eye-socket. “I reckon a blind, bleeding man wouldn’t last long, when the sun comes up, and the vultures see you.”

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Herzog whimpered. Ray jerked the knife, just a little bit. In the moonlight you couldn’t see the colour, but a tiny drop of black began to bleed down Herzog’s face, looking like a tear.

 

 _Poor bastard’s been crying for real,_ Ray thought. He couldn’t see it, but he knew.

 

“Jesus?” Ray laughed. “I didn’t take you for a religious man, Herzy. Dunno why you’re talking to Him though. He won’t help you.” He pulled the knife back, got to his feet, and stared down at his victim. “We might help you though.” He jerked a thumb at the other prisoner. “You been working with this guy?”

 

Herzog was shaking. Ray glared at him. “You got my permission to speak.”

 

“I… I…”

 

“Speak!” Jackie shoved the man on his front, and kicked him in the side. “You heard the Bookman. Speak.”

 

“Hey, Jackie.” Sal finally stood, and joined the group. “He’s not gonna say much if you break his ribs.

 

“Fucking piece of shit doesn’t know anything anyway,” Jackie sneered. The brothers stood on either side of Herzog, Sal playing good cop to Jackie’s bad cop. Ray watched, still, after all these weeks, strangely fascinated by the dynamics of their act.

 

“Well, maybe. But give the guy a chance to talk.” Sal smiled down at Herzog, looking his usual gentle self. “You okay there?” Herzog moaned, and Sal shook his head, and winced. “Sorry, I guess I tied those ropes too tight. Mando – gimme the knife.”

 

Ray handed the knife back to Sal. Herzog made a sound in his throat, like some small creature, drowning.

 

“Hey, don’t panic, I’m just gonna cut the rope. You’re not gonna do anything stupid, are you?”

 

“No. No, Sir.”

 

“Good man. Okay.” Sal squatted, sliced the rope that bound Herzog’s wrists and ankles, then slid the knife back in his boot. “Your hands’ll hurt,” he said. “When the blood flow starts up again.” Herzog’s hands were still pressed against each other, as though in prayer. Sal took them between his, started chaffing vigorously. “It stings, I know. Just rub ‘em, like this. They’ll feel better soon.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.”

 

Sal waited a moment while Herzog wrung and shook out his hands. Ray’s own hands tingled in sympathy. “So. You feeling better?”

 

“Yes. Yes, Sir.”

 

“Good. Okay then…” Sal put a reassuring hand on Herzog’s shoulder. “How long were you working for Onofri?”

 

“I wasn’t,” Herzog squeaked.

 

Sal shook his head, slowly, looking very disappointed. “Don’t lie,” he said. “We can forgive a lot, but not lying.” He jerked his head sideways at Onofri’s man. “This guy, he’s dead whatever happens. But you, you got a chance. I like you, I always did. So, Onofri suckered you somehow. He was a clever bastard. Not as clever as us, but still… Manipulative. That’s the word, isn’t it?” Sal looked to Ray for confirmation.

 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ray replied, his tongue feeling numb. “Manipulative.”

 

Sal nodded, thoughtfully, like he’d learned something new, before returning his attention to Herzog. “Just tell us what happened, and we’ll work something out. It’s not as bad as you think.”

 

“Oh… oh… okay.”

 

“Okay? Good. So, how long were you working for Onofri?”

 

“Three months.”

 

“Yeah? Before Mando got back?”

 

“Yes, Sir. That’s when –” he broke off for a moment, and retched. Sal moved back slightly to avoid the splash.

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sal soothed him, rubbing a hand on his back. “In your own time.”

 

“I’m sorry, Sir. That’s when Mr Onofri came to me. Before Mr Langoustini … disappeared.”

 

“You mean before someone sabotaged my car and killed my kids,” Ray snapped.

 

“Don’t worry, Cuz,” Jackie said. “We got the guy. Herzog here had nothing to do with it.”

 

“That’s right,” Herzog stuttered. “I didn’t know. I… I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.” The man turned his head, his eyes pleading at Ray. “I’m so sorry, I had nothing to do with what happened to your family.”

 

“I believe him,” Jackie said. “He wouldn’t have the balls.”

 

“It’s okay,” Sal agreed. “He wouldn’t betray us like that anyway. This was just money, that’s all. That’s all it was, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

 

“Okay. Don’t sweat it. Money’s not the most important thing. So, anyone else working for Onofri that we should know about?”

 

“There’s Simon, works on the floor. And – and Patrick.”

 

“Irish,” Jackie snorted, contemptuously. “First that fat bastard Murphy, now Simon and Patrick. Fucking Micks, you can’t trust any of ‘em.”

 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Herzog’s head was bobbing up and down, eagerly agreeing with Jackie. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I just, I didn’t… I didn’t think.”

 

“Yeah, it happens. Anyone can make a mistake.” Sal touched Herzog’s wrists, and pulled a face at the abrasions. “We should get those looked at,” he said. “Jackie, we got a first aid kit in the car?”

 

“Yeah. You want me to get it?”

 

“Yeah, in a minute.” He looked back at Herzog. “Is there anything else we need to know?”

 

“That’s all I know, I swear.”

 

“And – you know. Just so we know, did you tell him anything? Onofri, I mean. Did he want information?”

 

“There wasn’t much,” Herzog looked embarrassed. “I – uhm. Fudged the numbers a couple of times. When there was a big win, I put different figures in the account. The, uh, the winner would pass on a percentage. And then Onofri would, we would, uh, divide it up –”

 

“Is that what you were doing with Lady Shoes?” Ray interrupted, just to confirm what he already guessed. The Feds would need to know if Denny Scarpa was deliberately involved in crooked games.

 

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry. When Mr Onofri… when he and his son…” The man stuttered to a halt, and Ray finished his sentence.

 

“Died.”

 

Herzog’s eyes widened with fear. “Yes…” he whispered.

 

“Keep going,” Ray ordered.

 

“When Mr Onofri and his son… when… well, I just carried on, for myself. Not every time, just… I recognised Miss Scarpa, and I thought… it had worked before. And she…” He flashed an urgent look at Jackie. “You know I meant no harm.”

 

“Okay. I understand,” Sal said, gently. “She’s a very pretty woman.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Yes, she is.”

 

“Okay. Well. I think we’re about done here. Jackie, Mando – what do you think?”

 

Jackie nodded.

 

“Yeah,” Ray said. _Okay, don’t panic,_ he thought, quietly panicking. _Sal’s got what he wanted – Herzog’s gonna have to get out of town, but he’ll live. Too late for Onofri’s guy but... No. Maybe he’ll live till morning. Maybe the Feds’ll find him. Shit, I’ve got to get him under shelter somehow, and hope the damn birds don’t find him first._ “Yeah,” Ray nodded. “I think we’re done.”

 

“Me too.” Sal grinned at Ray with brotherly affection. He turned to Herzog, still smiling, putting his big hands on either side of the other man’s head. “Thanks, Herzog,” he said and…

 

Ray heard the cracking noise before his brain caught up with what he had just seen.

 

_Herzog kneeling, looking pathetic, looking grateful, and Sal’s hands on Herzog’s head …_

_Hands on his head, and Sal twisting._

 

Ray’s heart stopped. Sal broke Herzog’s neck with a clean snap, stood up and let the body drop. Herzog fell limply, backward. Rolled, for a moment on the slope, and bounced.

 

“Simon and Patrick,” Sal mused, brushing his palms against his trousers’ legs. “I suppose we gotta do them next. Give it to one of your _soldati_ , Jackie. If he does a good job, we might move him up to _capo.”_

 

_This is happening somewhere else. I’m not here._

 

“What about this one?” Jackie was prodding Onofri’s man with his foot, as though he was trying to decide if it was worth kicking him or not.

 

_It’s not happening. I’m someone else._

 

“Him? Oh, won’t take much to finish him off.” Sal looked at the bodyguards. “You know where to take ’em.”

 

“Yeah, Boss.” Rosso grabbed the body round the chest. Mark took the legs. Ray watched numbly as they started up the slope, carrying Herzog’s corpse between them like a carpet.

 

“Hey, you.” Jackie crooked his finger, commanding Sal’s bodyguards to approach. “This one here,” he pointed at Onofri’s man. “I reckon he can walk. If he can’t, you’ll have to drag him. Don’t care how you do it, just get him up there, give him a shove after his friend.”

 

Ray stared at the _soldati._ One of them looked barely out of high school. The other man was in his fifties, but seemed as innocently cheerful about the task before him as Ray had been about his first driving lesson.[BG5] 

 

“Someone finds the bodies,” Jackie was saying, “they’ll reckon maybe they were climbing, fell down and broke their necks.” He laughed. “Well, they’re a bit overdressed for hiking, but no-one will be able to prove otherwise.”

 

“Sure thing, Boss,” the older man said.

 

“Make sure you untie him before you push him in though. Okay. Me, Sal and Armando are travelling back together. You guys, make your own way home. You got the car keys?”

 

“Yeah. Thanks, Boss.”

 

“Solid guy,” Sal said as they started back to the car.

 

Jackie grunted assent. “Alan’s useful. Been thinking of promoting him – I’ll get him to do the Micks.” 

 

“You okay, Mando?”

 

 _‘Keep walking.’_ For the first time since their birthday, Armando spoke in his head. _‘Keep smiling. You’ll be fine.’_

 

“Fine,” Ray heard himself say. He was probably smiling. He sounded normal.

 

“Only, you don’t look too good.”

 

“I’m just –”

 

“Tired,” Jackie snapped. “God, you’re always tired.”

 

Pa was walking along next to him. “You know what your problem is,” the Old Man said. “You need to get laid.”

 

“You know what my problem is,” Ray repeated. “I need to get laid.”

 

Jackie started laughing, and pounded his back. “Come on then,” Jackie said. “Let’s go celebrate.”

 

“Gimme the keys,” Sal said, disapprovingly. “You been drinking, Jackie.”

 

“Yeah. And Armando’s tired.” Jackie put an arm across Ray and pulled him into a sideways hug. “Don’t worry, Cuz. I know just the place. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

~*~

 

One of the dancers was gyrating and swaying as she made her way through the tables to Jackie and Ray. She was smiling – not Sarah’s ‘oh my God, she’s really smiling’ smile, but a hooker’s professional smile. Lips curved lusciously, eyes blank as obsidian. She was amber and bronze beneath the lights of the strip joint, her hair a black and jagged cloud. She looked like a statue of Venus come to life.

 

“Hey,” Jackie nudged Ray’s ribs with his elbow. “I think she’s coming for you.”

 

“You think?” Ray was doing better since he’d had a couple of drinks. He’d remembered how to speak.

 

“Yeah. She’s looking at you.” Jackie smirked. “Reckon we should screw the brains out of Onofri’s old whores tonight – serve the old fuck right.”

 

Ray lifted his whisky and swallowed. God… she’d been in Onofri’s stable before Jackie took it over. Before _he_ took it over. After all, he was the one who managed the accounts for this place.

 

_I’m filth._

 

Jackie drained his glass. “You take Honey,” he said. “She likes you. I’ll take that one.” He pointed. “See her? She’s new. I’ll break her in for you. You can have her next time.”

 

Ray nodded, finished his drink, plonked the empty tumbler on the table next to him. Honey had finally woven her way past her admirers. She spread her legs, and straddled his lap. “Hey, Handsome,” she said, put her hands on his shoulders, and started to writhe.

 

“Hey,” Ray choked out.

 

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Jackie reached out with his left hand, and gave Honey’s right breast a possessive squeeze. Honey pushed into it, and moaned.

 

 _God, can Jackie not tell when a woman’s faking?_ Jackie pushed his head between Ray and Honey – _Oh for the love of heaven, he’s kissing her._ Ray shut his eyes against the sight of Jackie’s neck, the thought of that man’s tongue in the woman’s mouth. _Of course he knows she’s faking. He just doesn’t care._

When he opened his eyes, Jackie had gone. Honey was brushing her breasts up against his shirt. Still with that phony smile, and a little bit of hurt behind it. “I missed you, Baby. Not seen you for a few months.”

 

“What?” Ray squeaked. _Oh, shit. Armando slept with her._

 

She looked offended. “You don’t remember?”

 

“Yeah, I remember.” He heard his voice go cold. “I’ve had more important things on my mind.”

 

Fear flickered across her face.  It wasn’t a good thing to offend the Bookman. “I’m sorry, Baby,” she murmured. “I know, we all heard.” Ray said nothing, and Honey stopped grinding her hips, settled onto his lap, with something almost like innocence. “Your poor children,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Ray cupped his hands on her buttocks, for something to hang onto, and buried his head on her shoulders. _What the fuck am I meant to say?_

 

She was stroking his back and his neck, like real comfort, like a real caress. “You wanna go somewhere with me?”

 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah.”

 

“Okay,” she said, and kissed him. He tilted his head back, and opened his mouth. She tasted of sweetness – coconuts and pineapple. Someone had been buying her cocktails. Ray didn’t shut his eyes. At the next table the bodyguards were watching – everyone was watching.

 

“Let’s go,” he whispered, pushing her off him.

 

“Okay, Baby,” she said, smiling sideways for the benefit of the other men. “Anything for you.”

 

He slid his arm around her, and let her lead him away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_Date: Unknown._ **

_Nobody has questioned him for what seems like days, though it’s probably not that long. Nobody has beaten him either. He’d almost welcome the distraction._

_At least three times now, he thinks, someone has tilted his head back and poured buckets of water over his face. His head is hanging backward now – he should move it, his shoulders ache – but he’s too tired. Other than the blunt male fingers that pried his jaw open last time he drank there has been no sign of another human – just silence all around._

_He stretches out his senses, hoping for his brother. “Mando,” he whispers. “Are you there?”_

_Ray feels the moment his brother shifts through the cold air to stand at his shoulder._

_“Who’s doing this to us?”_

_‘You are,’ his brother says. ‘This is your fault. You have nobody to blame but yourself.’_

_“_ _I’m sorry, you’re right.” Ray coughs, tries to spit it clear. Blood or phlegm – it sticks to his lips, and he can’t wipe it off._

_This was his fault. He took to the life too easily. He should have fought it harder, fought the Feds. Shouldn’t have got comfortable, not even for a moment._

_“I shoulda known then,” Ray tells the empty air. He’s_ _talking out loud just to hear another person speak. “They were being way too friendly.” No reply. Maybe somebody was listening. “I shoulda known then that something was wrong.”_

****

**_Monday, 2 nd June, 1997. 11:23 am_ **

 

Three months, three weeks and five days in, his mouth tasted like an old sock.

 

First time he blacked out, he’d thought, _Shit, what did I do this time? What did Armando make me do?_ Then he remembered. _Armando doesn’t make me do anything anymore. He doesn’t have to. I do it all by myself._

He peeked one eye open… Thank God. No sign of his brother.

 

 _Oh God, I hate mornings._ And at least he knew where he was this time. He might feel like shit, but he was feeling like shit in a four-poster bed. Nice big hotel suite. _What the hell am I thinking, spending so much money on one hooker when I could sleep with any whore in Vegas?_

 

Behind him Hannah made a happy humming sound, and wriggled up against him. Her soft body cupped itself to his back. He could feel the swell of breasts cushioning his shoulders, and… He looked down. Her slender hands were wrapped round his waist, dark against his olive skin. He sighed, and laced his fingers through hers.

 

There was some comfort here.

 

_Oh, fuck…_

 

There he was, the bad penny. Pa. The Old Man was sitting across the room, with a cigarette in one hand, a glass of bourbon in the other. He raised the glass in salutation and winked.

 

Ray’s whole body went rigid with self-loathing, and his father’s ghost blinked out.

 

There was that smell again, the one from when he was a kid. Old books and beeswax and... _Don’t think about that, don’t think …_

He kept his eyes wide open and did an internal inventory. His body didn’t _feel_ like he’d just been… like he’d just done _that._ He knew it offended her, when he when he got too wasted for sex, but to be honest, sometimes it relieved him, to be unable. Ray had never done it with a prostitute before Hannah.

 

_Who’d a thought I’d be such a sleazebag?_

 

He hadn’t dreamt of Sarah since.

 

“Morning, Armando.” Hannah’s voice was a warm alto, sweet like her stage name, and familiar – they’d been talking crap last night. He remembered… shit. He didn’t remember. He knew he never told her anything important. Never told her Family business, never ever said he was a cop, never mentioned the Feds. It was usually baseball shit, Inuit stories – running off at the mouth about everything and nothing the way he used to with Benny. He was the king of bullshit, always had been. Besides, by the time he was relaxed enough to feel chatty she was usually too stoned to know what the hell they were talking about.

 

Right now she was chuckling, and tickling his belly. He peered down. Her fingernails were peach today. She never let them stray below his belly button without permission. Last time she’d tried he’d done the unforgivable and slapped her.

 

He’d only done it once, but he knew women beaters. He probably would again, one day. She’d probably let him.

 

Oh fuck, he was coming down. Thinking bad shit.

 

“What time is it?”

 

She yawned, and reached over his body to turn the clock to face them.

 

Damn. He forgot to set the alarm.

 

Ray scrambled out of bed, looking for his shirt.

 

“One day,” Hannah said, “I’m going to get all those clothes off you, and show you a really good time.”

 

“Shut up,” Ray snapped, glaring at her. She pouted like a little girl. He sighed, smoothed his crumpled trousers, and tried to reign in his irritation. He didn’t have time for her teasing. “What’s it to you if I keep my pants on?”

 

“Why do you pay me then?” Hannah sat up, pulling the sheets to cover her breasts. She was obviously trying to keep things light, but her eyes were miserable. Of course, she was coming down too.

 

“Not for the Spanish Inquisition,” Ray said, pulling on his shoes. Shit. Jackie was gonna be pissed to see him in the same clothes two days running. After he’d met Smithson, he was gonna have to go home and get changed.

 

“You think it’s your house that’s haunted,” Hannah said, “but it’s not. It’s you.”

 

Ray froze, jacket in hand. _What did she just say?_

 

“I hear you talking to them sometimes,” she said, gently. “It’s okay.”

 

In a flash Ray was kneeling on the bed, his hands around her throat. “You tell anyone, anyone at all, what you just said to me, and I’ll kill you.”

 

 _Oh, God, I’m squeezing…_ He let his hands drop, and her fingers flew up to clutch her throat. She started coughing.

 

“Sorry,” he said, and… _I’m Pa. They turned me into Pa._

“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered, tears shining on her lashes. “You know I don’t tell anyone anything. That’s our thing.”

 

“I know.” Hannah told the other hookers that Armando fucked her all night till she saw stars. Which… sometimes Ray did. Other nights he just passed out in her arms. She didn’t complain about it. Why should she? She was the most envied whore in Vegas, living in the lap of luxury, the Bookman’s _goomah._ And Ray, two or three times a week, got to sleep somewhere he felt safe.

 

Fuck… the phone was ringing. He had to answer it.

 

He took the call in the _en suite,_ shut the door, and turned on the taps so Hannah wouldn’t hear.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” On the other side of the phone, Jackie was sounding pissed, as usual. “You were meant to call first thing.”

 

“Sorry, sorry. Something came up.”

 

“I bet it did. Hope that bitch Honey was worth it.”

 

“Shut up, Jackie,” Ray snapped. _I don’t need this, not this early –_ _Hell, it’s not early at all._ “Look, I’m here now – so what’s the itinerary?”

 

“You’re seeing Smithson, remember? What’s wrong with you?”

 

Ray’s mind went blank. Shit, he was still half out of it from the night before.

 

“You alright, Cuz?” Jackie sounded too calm, which was a sure sign that at some point today he was going to go ballistic.

 

“Yeah, fine.”

 

“Just tired?”

 

“Yeah. Just tired.”

 

Jackie fell silent. Ray sweated, the static hissing on the line between them, until his cousin spoke again.

 

“Okay, so you break Smithson. We’re talking millions here, so Sal wants you to do it.” Jackie sounded like he thought Sal was an idiot for trusting Ray, but kept going. “We’ll meet up at the Bacchus, two o' clock. Get something to eat, give him time to get the papers together. He signs, we’re clear for the day.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you’d better get Smithson to cave, or I’ll make you eat your own dick.”

 

Ray shook his head at Jackie’s rhetoric. He’d probably done that to someone. “Yeah, right. He’ll cave.”

 

Jackie grunted. “Let me know if you’re running late.”

 

“I’ll be on time.” He would be. He started off slow some mornings, but he was fine once he got moving.

 

“Okay.” Jackie went quiet again. “You have a late night?”

 

 _Why the fuck does he care?_ Ray wanted to say something but... He couldn’t be bothered to form the words.

 

“Cuz?”

 

“Just tired,” Ray managed, with an effort. “I’ll see you later.” He snapped the phone shut, dropped it on the cistern of the toilet, and wondered what he’d forgotten.

 

Shit, he was going to have to leave the bathroom and face Hannah, after what he’d just done to her, after what he’d just said. He smacked his face, both to wake up, and punish himself. He paused, and smacked again, harder.

_Okay… Shave, then get out there._

 

Hannah was sitting cross-legged on the bed, in a pink fluffy dressing gown, with a breakfast tray on her lap. They must have ordered last night – room service had been while he was talking to Jackie. Hannah was eating poached egg yolks and salmon. She was on some kinda crazy high protein diet to lose weight.

 

“You want yours?” she asked, pointing at his plate on the breakfast trolley. _Jeez, you’d think I didn’t just threaten to kill her._

 

“No,” he said, not even wanting to see what he’d ordered. “Gotta go.”

 

 _What have I forgot?_ He looked round the room. He had his wallet, he had the swipe card for his office. There was Benny’s compass and – there wasn’t anything else. _Guns, numb-nuts. Ankle holster._ Ray armed himself rapidly. Armando didn’t so much carry his main gun, as wear it on display, like an extension of his classy suit. The Feds wanted him to wear a bullet proof vest, but Ray had reminded them that if he was ever strip searched that would just make him look like a coward. _Okay, there’s something else. What the fuck else have I forgot?_ He glanced at his side of the bed. _Jeez, I nearly forgot the watch._

 

_What the hell’s wrong with me?_

 

Ray strapped on the watch, grabbed his suitcase, and went to the door. Maybe for once he’d drive himself, _by_ himself – that might cheer him up…

 

No. He couldn’t get away with it. He was fairly sure nobody had a hit out on him right now, but he couldn’t drive into the heart of Vegas if he didn’t bring backup. The Onofri war was officially over, but someone with his profile was never safe.

 

And besides – it hit him with a shock. He had been a cop – he knew better than to drive under the influence.

 

“Hey, Baby.” He turned. Hannah was smiling, holding his cell phone. _Shit. I nearly forgot that too…_ It had happened once before, and both Sal and Jackie tore him a new one. The Bookman couldn’t afford to go radio silent.

 

“Thanks, Hannah,” he said, and heard his voice choke. She stood up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, like he was a regular husband and she was a regular wife. Then she gave him a little strip of pills, dexie, thank God.

 

“Have a good day at work.”

 

“Yeah.” His heart did a flip. If only he could be someone else. He lifted a hand, because it was impossible not to, and twined his fingers through her hair. A wild tangle of black with golden highlights. Not blonde highlights, but brazen yellow, shiny, and electric against the soft storm of her curls.

 

She smelled of poached eggs and fish when he kissed her, and his hands were reluctant to leave her face.

 

He didn’t love her.

 

He had to go and destroy Smithson.

 

**_12:30 pm_ **

 

If Smithson had a cap, it would have been in his hand. The man towered over Ray – he had several inches on Sal even, had to be six seven at least, and was skinny with it. A giant bean pole of a man. Even so, Ray’s office made him look small; instead of looming, he stooped.

 

“Mr Langoustini,” he cleared his throat and shuffled, as though he was a school kid caught smoking in the john. “I’m sorry if I was too early.”

 

“Not at all.” Ray would have made him wait anyway, even if he hadn’t been late himself. He leant back into his chair, considered putting his feet up on the table, then decided that would look too casual. He needed to emphasise his authority to pull this off.

 

And honestly, it was going to be easy enough to do.

 

“About your debt –”

 

“Yes, Sir – I can –”

 

“No. You can’t. You know how I know? You just called me ‘Sir.’ A week ago it was Armando.”

 

“I’m sorry. Armando. I just… you have to give me more time. We’re friends –“

 

“I have no friends,” Ray stated. It was true. Armando had been so driven that he’d no real friendship with anyone beyond his brothers. Even the extended family – second cousins and so on, were kept at a distance by the Bookman. The rest of the world was divided up into useful, irrelevant. The fact was, Armando had no life, outside of work, and immediate family. And if he targeted someone for friendship, that ‘friend’ was in a lot of trouble – as Smithson was finding out.

 

Smithson hadn’t known that though. Ray had relaxed around this guy, joked and laughed like they were buddies. The tall man looked like he’d been slapped. Ray schooled his expression, and wished he was as heartless as his brother.

 

“Maybe we’re not friends then,” Smithson choked out, “but I am a friend of Sal’s, and –”

 

“You see Sal anywhere in this room?” Ray rotated in his swivel chair, pretending to look for his cousin. “Sal? You there?” He faced Smithson again, and shrugged. “I don’t see him.”

 

“He’s in Italy,” Smithson bit his lip. “I’m sure if he was here he’d –”

 

Ray laughed. “Who do you think told me to do this? There’s no business in the Family without Sal’s approval. If you really _were_ a friend of his, you’d know that.”

 

“Sir – Armando. Please. I need more time.”

 

“There is no more time.” Ray stated baldly. “You have to pay.”

 

“But I can’t!” The man flushed as he blurted out the terrible truth. “I can’t! There’s nothing left. I’m going to have to file for bankruptcy.”

 

“You brought it on yourself. You think I’m going to front you any more money for gambling, when you’re such a total loser?” For a second Ray heard himself, _loser,_ and felt his face go hot, then cold. He stood up, feeling a sharp spike of fear through the dexie buzz, and walked around the table toward Smithson. _What the hell am I going to do to him?_ Smithson backed off, scared by whatever it was that he saw on Ray’s face.

 

“Sorry, sorry.” The man was nearly sobbing – “I just don’t know how it happened.”

 

“I know how it happened,” Ray said, feeling his heart slowing. _Calm down._ He’d only panicked for a moment. “I know exactly how it happened. We dangled you a bait, and you bit. We’ve been reeling you in ever since.”

 

“You – you did this to me deliberately?”

 

Ray thinned his lips in a cold smile. “Now you understand.”

 

“But what – how could – how could it benefit you? If I can never pay, how does –”

 

Ray put a hand on the man’s shoulder, and felt him shudder. “Walk with me, Smithy.” He strolled the length of his office to the vast window. He could look out at Vegas, Vegas could not look back at him. Mirrored on one side, bulletproof – the glass alone was worth a fortune. “You see that?” He gestured at the lights of the Strip, scattered like jewels from a treasure box.

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“You know what that is? That’s America’s playground.” He smiled at Smithson, looking for understanding in the watery blue eyes. “And we own it. Well… all of it that matters.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Now we own you. Got it?”

 

“But… I have nothing.”

 

“You have your chain of fast-food restaurants, your gyms, your gas stations.” Smithson’s businesses covered the whole of Nevada – they were perfect for the brother’s needs.

 

“But I’m going bankrupt!”

 

“No, no, no, no.” Ray rubbed his hand in mock reassurance against the man’s back. “We’re going to buy you out.”

 

“It was my father’s –”

 

“And now it’s mine. Don’t worry – we’ll be generous.” For a moment Smithson looked hopeful. “We’ll pay you ten percent of its market value.” The guy went stiff beneath his hand, and Ray patted him between his shoulder blades. “There, there. It’ll be alright.” He turned and strolled back to his desk. “We might even keep you on as manager, if you play nice.”

 

“But –”

 

“But what?” Ray sat on his desk, folded his arms, and raised an eyebrow. “This way your kids still go to college. Okay, you’ll have to downsize. We’ll have your house, of course, and your horses. I’m sure you can find a nice little home somewhere. Any other assets you might be thinking about hiding – don’t bother.”

 

“My wife –”

 

“Shush,” Ray made a flapping gesture with his hand. “Don’t worry. Your wife won’t necessarily leave you.”

 

Smithson swallowed. “But –”

 

“Oh. And your joint savings, bonds, trust funds, pension plans? We’ll have them too.”

 

Smithson was white and shaking. “You’re evil,” he whispered. “You – _people –_ are evil.”

 

“Yes.” Ray curled his lip in amusement. “And you’re a loser who paupered his wife and children, because he couldn’t stop gambling. You’re not better than us. You’re just an idiot.” He raised his hand and flicked it toward the door, dismissing the man. “You’ll sign the papers today. Come round after office hours, six thirty. We’ll be waiting.”

 

Smithson said nothing, and Ray raised his eyes and sharpened his tone. “Or I’ll come to your home with Jackie and some of our ‘friends.’ We’ll get your wife to make you sign them.”

 

For a moment Smithson looked as though he was going to resist, _is he that that selfish, that he’d risk his own wife? What, he thinks he could run from us?_ But then –

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Ray walked round his desk and sat, switched on his computer monitor and started typing, ignoring the other man as he shuffled from the room.

 

**_2:15pm_ **

 

Ray and Jackie were facing each other across the table, arguing so quietly they could hardly hear each other. Family did not cause a scene in public.

 

“Ten percent was too much. What you trying to do, show mercy? I thought you said you were gonna ruin him.”

 

“He ruined himself. And we got what we wanted.”

 

“No. You gave him a fucking lifeline. People are gonna think you’ve turned soft.”

 

“Do you have any idea how suspicious it’s gonna look on our financial records if we suddenly just ‘acquire’ all those businesses? We have to pay something for them.”

 

“Ten percent is too much.”

 

The two men broke apart for a moment as the sommelier returned with the wine. When he’d left, they leant across the table again, practically nose to nose.

 

“I’m the fucking accountant,” Ray said.

 

“And I’m second-in-command. With Sal in Italy, I’m _capo,_ and my word is final. Ten percent is too much.”

 

Ray felt his face go stiff with anger. _Dammit, he’s right._ Even if Sal got back and agreed with Ray’s logic, he would be furious at an act of disobedience to his deputy. “You piece of shit,” Ray said. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You ain’t been _capofamiglia_ for a few years now – it really rankles, doesn’t it? Every year, the captains vote for Sal, not you.”

 

Jackie went white. “That’s not it, and you know it.”

 

“That _is_ it. You know why they vote for Sal? It’s because he’s not such a fucking hot head. You might be smarter, you’re probably smarter than me, but you’ve got a bad attitude. You’re the best _capo bastone_ out there, and your guys would die for you, but you don’t have it in you to be head honcho – you’d only start another war. They know that. That’s why they vote for Sal.”

 

Jackie sneered. “I don’t care who’s ‘head honcho’ so long as it isn’t you.”

 

“Excuse me? I’m third.”

 

“No you’re not. Sal listens to you too much, you might as well be running things.”

 

Ray shoved back his chair, about to stand. Jackie grabbed his wrist. “Sit down. People are watching.”

 

Ray yanked his hand loose.

 

“I’m going to the john. You wanna shake my dick for me when I’m done?”

 

Jackie flushed and his fist clenched on the table.

 

 _Fuck, if I’m not careful we’re gonna start pounding on each other right here in the restaurant._ Ray took a deep breath. _Shut up, Vecchio,_ he told himself. _Calm the fuck down._

 

“Okay, Jackie. I didn’t mean that. I’m just –”

 

“Tired.” Jackie’s eyes glittered with spite. “I know.”

 

Ray nodded. “I’ll just be a minute.”

 

He sat for more than a minute in the stall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, waiting for the perc to kick in. He was too damn wired.

 

 _‘He’s right, you know.’_ Ray looked up, and there was Armando. _‘It isn’t even doing any favours for Smithson, allowing him an income – he’ll only gamble it away again.’_

“Don’t tell me you sympathise with him.”

 

_‘Sympathise with no-one, or they’ll despise you.’_

“What about your cousins? You sympathise with them.”

_‘Family is family. Smithson? He’s nothing. The quality of mercy is overrated.’_

 

“Fuck you, Mando.”

 

 _I shouldn’t forget to take my pills from the Feds. Shit._ He fumbled in his inside pocket and there it was. The bottle of ‘anti-psychic thingummy jigs.’ No way was he calling it what Doc Grey did. _It’s one way to keep the ghosts out,_ he told himself, bitterly, and bit down on the fucker.

 

God, the worst thing was, Mando was right – at least as far as logic was concerned. And – _Shit, did I tell Smithson he could stay on as manager? What the fuck’s wrong with me?_ It was up to Sal who he used to front the business now, and that gift was going ‘in family.’ That was part of what Sal was doing in Italy, after all. He wasn’t just repairing his marriage, he was deciding which Italian Families to form alliances with, agreeing with them which _capos_ and _soldati_ he could move across to the US. The Iguanas had a far larger area to gather tribute from now that the dust had settled from the Onofri War. The fresh talent coming in from across the water would need legitimate jobs and green cards if the Iguanas were going to police this State.

 

_Fuck, I’m a fuck up. The quality of fucking mercy’s gonna get me killed._

 

Ray scrubbed his face with his hands, and took another of the Fed’s pills, just to be on the safe side. _Shoulda done it this morning, shut fucking Mando up._

Yeah, but it made him feel like crap.

 

_Jackie’s gonna kill me one day._

 

_Don’t throw up._

When he got back to the table he’d calmed down enough to smile.

 

“Okay. You’re _capo_ for the next week. So, whatever you say goes.”

 

Jackie nodded, then surprised Ray by sounding sympathetic. “You’re a sorry sack, ain’t you? I know why you did it.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. You lost everything, and you thought if you left something for Smithson’s kids it might make up for what happened to your kids and Lexie.”

 

“I didn’t…” _Shit. Jackie’s saying I’m weak, and letting my feelings get in the way of business._ “No.”

 

“You don’t wanna think about that kinda shit. Just eat up, drink up, and we’ll get the bastard to sign the papers.”

 

Ray stared at his plate.

 

 “Cuz?”

 

“Sorry, Jackie. Feeling a bit queasy.”

 

Jackie glared at him, his brief moment of good humour forgotten. “That’s ‘cause you don’t eat, you stupid prick. What’d you have for breakfast? Besides Honey?”

 

Ray cast about in his head for a lie, and came up blank. He looked back down at the plate.

 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Well, you ain’t leaving this restaurant till you fucking eat – shit.” Jackie’s phone was ringing. He grimaced. “Pender. Can’t wait.” He stood and walked out of hearing distance.

 

_Oh, that’s just great. He doesn’t trust me at all._

 

Methodically, Ray set to the grim task of clearing his plate. Although he couldn’t hear what was being said, he recognised the rhythm of the language. _That’s not Pender, that’s Sal. They’re talking Italian. He’s telling Sal that I fucked up. He can’t say how, over the phone, but he’s saying something…_ No. Maybe he was imagining it. Shit. _How paranoid is too paranoid?_

Jackie came back to the table, clicked his phone shut. “Not that I really give a shit,” he said, as though they hadn’t been interrupted, “but you look fucking wrecked.” He paused. “Your ulcer playing up again?”

 

 _Ulcer?_ Ray glanced up at his cousin, and managed not to look surprised. There seemed something significant in the question. Something behind it. “Dunno,” he said.

 

“Maybe?” Jackie asked.

 

Ray puzzled the question out. Armando had an ulcer? Well, that made sense – who wouldn’t have an ulcer living like this? Even so, it felt like Jackie was talking in code. Ray stared back down at his plate. “Maybe,” he replied.

 

Jackie sat back with a weird expression – part smug, part pitying – as though something had been confirmed.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s alright, Armando,” Jackie said. “I won’t tell Sal. Just keep your shit together this time.” Now he really did look pitying. “Thanks for telling me.”

 

“Telling you what?”

 

Jackie nodded. “Just like that. Anyone asks, your ulcer is playing up.”

 

 _Oh, shit. He thinks Armando’s back on drugs…_ Ray blinked, with shock. _Fuck. I’m on drugs._

 

“You want another glass of wine?”

 

“How’s that gonna help an ‘ulcer?’” Ray held his hand over the glass to signal that he didn’t want another refill, although, actually, he really did.

 

“It’s not the same thing. If you drank more you wouldn’t need that other stuff.”

 

_If I drank more, I’d drown._

“Maybe later,” Ray said, battling fear at the sudden revelation. _I’m screwed. Four months in, and I’m a fucking junkie._

 

“Okay. Well then,” Jackie got to his feet. “I’ll be round the office at six to go over the paperwork. Half six, Smithy is signing. If he doesn’t, we’re visiting his wife and kids at half seven.”

 

_Please God, let him sign._

At half past six Smithson signed his life away, for one percent.

 

**_Eight pm_ **

 

Ray used the emergency phone number, for the first time ever, and arranged a meet. He followed the co-ordinates to the barren lands in the west, and there, as promised, was Johnny, parked on the side of the road. Ray pulled alongside, both cars pointing in different directions, so they could talk through the windows without being disturbed. Neither man was to step out of their car. In the desert, sound travelled well. If they heard any vehicle approaching they were to start off immediately in opposite directions. Ray had swept his own car for bugs before he left – if the brothers were spying on him and heard this, he was dead.

 

Johnny’s elbow was leaning out his open window. Ray wound down his own side window, and wondered how the hell he was going to say this.

 

Johnny opened, as always, thank God, by using his name.

 

“Are you alright, Ray? It’s serious?”

 

This time, Ray replied by telling the truth.

 

“No. I’m not alright. I’m…” He held out a shaking hand, containing the last of Hannah’s dexies. “I’m on drugs.” _Oh shit, I just said it._ “There’s perc as well. When I can’t sleep or... And sometimes… I don’t know. There’s been other stuff, but that’s it, mainly.”

 

Johnny wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, then blew out a breath and took the dexie.

 

“I’m sorry, Ray.” He looked directly at him. “We know.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**_Date Unknown_ **

_The woman is back. He can smell her perfume. He nearly says something, then he realises that his only advantage here is that he knows something she doesn’t. He can feel the prickle of her gaze upon the nape of his neck as she watches him. After a moment she starts to move, her shoes a soft shuffle as she circles him like a cat watching an injured bird. ~~~~_

_“When did you go to the Feds?” she says, her voice devoid of emotion._

_He doesn’t give her the satisfaction of flinching. He smiles beneath the hood, glad that he has denied her the satisfaction of seeing his fear._

_“_ _Was it before or after your children died?”_

_“_ _Screw the fucking Feds.” He pauses, braces himself. “And fuck you._ _”_

 

**2 nd June 8pm 1997**

“What do you mean 'you know?'” Ray's voice unintentionally cracked. He stared at his friend, his… no. Just his handler. A friend would have said something. “You _bastard._ If you knew I was in trouble, why didn’t you fucking help?”

 

“My superiors –”

 

“Oh, fuck the higher ups.” He shouted, and didn’t care if his voice carried down the highway. “Mother of God, I can’t believe you guys knew.”

 

“This kind of thing happens a lot more than you’d think,” Johnny said, in matter of fact tones, “even with operatives who’ve been trained for deep undercover.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Ray swallowed. He couldn’t believe how calm the other man was about this. What - had the probability guys factored it in and determined it was worth the risk? _Of course they did._ “It ever happen to you?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

 

“No.” Johnny sounded almost apologetic. “But I do know guys it’s happened to, good guys. It’s not the end of the world.”

 

 _It is to me,_ Ray thought. “I hit a woman today,” he blurted out, and looked away down the empty road. “She hadn’t done anything. I didn’t even…” _Oh shit, I didn’t even hit her. I tried to choke the life out of her._ “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Is this Honey?”

 

“Hannah,” Ray corrected him. “Her name’s Hannah.”  _And she’s twenty-four, if you can believe her. Mom died when she was twelve, brought up by her Grandma, came to Vegas three years ago, hooked, and whored and strung out – and now the Bookman is knocking her around._

 

“Sorry.” Johnny looked annoyed by the interruption. “In all the other surveillance people call her Honey.”

 

 _Guy doesn’t seem to care what I just told him._ For a moment Ray wanted to scream, or maybe just eat his gun. Instead he laid his head on the steering wheel. “Why the fuck didn’t you guys do something?”

 

Johnny rubbed his forehead, and grimaced, as though he was having trouble finding the right words. “Sometimes a job gets messy. You have to do what you have to do. If you stay too clean in this kind of work, they start to look at you funny.”

 

“At least nobody’s gonna think I’m a Vice cop,” Ray commented dryly. _Not when I’m getting high and fucking a prostitute._ He shook his head, and tried to swallow his anger. “I coulda got myself killed. I mean… Jackie fucking knows about the drugs.” He sat back up and glared at Johnny. “That’s fucking bad.”

 

“That’s pretty bad,” Johnny admitted, “but at least he still thinks you’re Armando. Did he say what he’s going to do about it?”

 

“He says he’ll keep his mouth shut and not tell Sal.”

 

“Hmm.” Johnny stared off into the distance, puzzled. “That’s odd.”

 

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

 

“Okay,” Johnny cleared his throat. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I’m sure you guessed anyway. We think that Jackie’s been watching you. We’re not sure how, but someone’s passing information to him.”

 

“Give me some credit. Of course I guessed. What sort of information?”

 

“Mostly nothing – stuff he’d already know, like who you’re meeting with, nothing he’d be able to use against you. But it’s how we first found out about the drug problem.”

 

“So, how long has he known?”

 

“Weeks.”

 

 _Weeks. Perfect._ “Who’s he been talking to?”

 

A flash of irritation crossed Johnny’s face. “They let me read the transcripts, but the name of his informant is redacted. I don’t even know if it’s a man or woman. There are big chunks missing. They say they’re trying to reduce your anxiety – they think you have enough to worry about. And…” Johnny let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t trust me not to tell you. They’re obviously correct.”

 

“Oh, great, so I’m not the only one they’re keeping in the dark.”

 

“That’s true,” Johnny agreed. “But you’re the only one with his life on the line.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’ve been thinking about it – I think it’s Hon – Hannah.”

 

“Yeah?” The thought made Ray’s flesh creep. “It can’t be her.” He dismissed it. “She’d be afraid to make me angry.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m a vicious son of a bitch,” he added, only half joking.

 

“Okay, so maybe it isn’t Hannah.” Johnny still sounded doubtful. “But someone’s out to get you.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, this assignment won’t last forever –”

 

“Oh, fuck off. It already has.” Both men fell silent. “So, that’s it, is it? I’m stuck here till some magical day when the higher ups decide to take me home?”

 

“They think this weapons deal could be it.”

 

“What do you mean? I thought the Yakuza contract was ‘it,’ but they haven’t done anything about that.”

 

“Don’t worry about that, it’s under control. We don’t have to know what’s happening there, just trust me, it’s happening.” Johnny sighed. “This thing with Tarasov though, it’s huge. We pull this Russian deal off, you have no idea how many lives it will save. We need to get the names involved, the sources –”

 

“I’ve given you everything I know.” _God Almighty._ “I don’t know what else I can do.”     

 

“There’s a name that keeps coming up,” Johnny persisted. “If you can get him –”

 

“If. Who is he?”

 

“Holloway Muldoon.”

 

“Okay.” Ray sighed. He knew the drill. “You need me to get close to him, get him red-handed.”

 

“That’s it, pretty much.”

 

Ray protested. “Well, I’ve heard of him, through the grapevine, but he’s like the Scarlett Pimpernel, you can’t get hold of him. He comes to you, if he comes at all.”

 

“So you have to make him come to you.”

 

 _Great,_ Ray thought. _Just what I need. As if there aren’t enough bad guys in my life, now I got to pull in another one._ The worst thing was, he knew just how to get Muldoon to come to him – and he didn’t like it. It sounded like a cliché but it was true – Muldoon was a big fat spider sitting in the middle of an international web. The Iguanas must have tripped over one of his threads by now, particularly since they’d got so much bigger. They’d become a much more attractive proposition lately. The trick now was to wait, gently put out feelers, not blunder in like a bull in a china shop. _Jackie’s gonna love that._

 

“Fine. He’ll come to us,” Ray promised. “But, in the meantime, what the hell am I supposed to do about the drugs?”

                    

“Your best,” Johnny said. “Look, give us a few days. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, at the diner. Let’s say four. We’ve a plan for when you told us, but it will take a day or so to get in place. Can you hang on till then?”

 

“Guess I’m going to have to.” He levelled his gaze at Johnny. “What would you guys have done if I hadn’t come to you?”

 

Johnny paused, looking uncomfortable. Ray shifted in his seat, reading the other man’s silence. _They’d 'a done nothing,_ he realised with shock. _I could do anything, I could fuck up entirely, and they’ll just… pretend I never happened. Cut me loose_.

 

“The official line is that they’d that they'd leave you alone and only pull you out if it started affecting your game. It didn’t.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Unofficially…”

 

_God, I’m right, ain’t I?_

“So, if I decide I’ve had enough and run away, what will you people do?”

 

“To be honest… I think they’d leave you to the mercy of the Iguanas.”

 

“You guys are bastards, you know that?”

 

“Yeah,” Johnny laughed, sounding a little bitter, like maybe he meant it. He moved his hand to his car key, the meeting clearly at an end. “We’ll meet up tomorrow, as usual, talk about ways to manage your problem.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Look, thanks for telling us.” Johnny really did sound sorry now. “A lot of guys never do. So – you know. Good man.”

 

“I’m not so good,” Ray said, and turned the ignition on his car. He knew for a fact that he was going to go home, or to Hannah’s, take his prescription meds, anything else he could find, and drink himself stupid.

_I can’t believe they fucking knew._

****

**_Friday, June 20 th 1997\. 9:25 pm_ **

Amelia Rossetti. He spotted her the moment he walked in. It was hard not to. Her dress was as red as Benny’s uniform and she dominated the stage like a rose in a field full of daisies.

 

The previous day Ray had met Johnny at the diner, as instructed, and been shown this woman’s photograph. The Fed’s solution: introduce a new _goomah,_ someone Ray could go to when things got too bad. Someone he could see openly, whenever he wanted. That was going to be Sarah’s role, before he got her killed.

 

“Well, fuck me, would you look at that piece of _cooze.”_ Jackie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and propped his chin on his hands. The Feds had predicted that Jackie would fixate on Rossetti. The brothers, apparently, had been complaining behind his back that Ray was too attached to a _moolie._ Yeah, well, Jackie was nothing if not predictable. Seemed the Feds’ psychologists had made the right call. Jackie was definitely fixated.

 

“I’m looking,” Ray said.

 

“Oh yeah?” Jackie was doing his ‘too casual’ act – trying to pretend he wasn’t watching Ray’s reactions from the corner of his eye. “You could do worse than her.”

 

“Who says she’d be interested?”

 

“She’ll be interested,” Jackie said, confidently. “It’s all round town. You’re an animal in the sack.”

 

“Shut up.” Ray knew not to look too interested too early on. “The only people who are saying that are the hookers, and nobody believes a hooker.”

 

“Yeah, they do,” Jackie said, “’cause let’s face it, if anyone would know, it’s those bitches. You can learn a lot from whores.”

 

“Apparently.”

 

“Drink up. God, Sal’s rubbing off on you. You hardly touched that. Bad enough he’s got you lifting weights.”

 

“I gotta do something when I’m bored.” Ray looked at the tumbler, and looked away. “Besides, I wanna listen to this.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Jackie grinned slyly. “You wanna listen, or you wanna look?”

 

Ray glared at him. “I said shuddup. You’re spoiling it.”

 

Jackie sat back and smirked. Ray turned and stared at the stage.

 

There was a lot to stare at. Rossetti was completely clothed, but her dress was so tight she managed to look naked. Her hair was a tumble of curls that reached half way down her back. She reminded him, uncomfortably, of Victoria. She didn’t move like her though. She moved like the jazz she was singing, with rhythm and sass. Her voice was throaty and deep – yeah. He could see why the Feds had picked her. Whoever she was, she oozed charisma – every man in the joint was staring at her, wishing she’d turn his way. The women in her backing band looked like they hated her. It was a good act.

 

_Hannah’s gonna be pissed._

 

He took a swig of his drink and discovered it was empty. He’d meant to slow down. He couldn’t afford to drink too much. He was seeing the Feds later. They’d seen him hung-over, but they’d never actually seen him drunk. Johnny was going to be there. He didn’t want Johnny to see him like that, even though, by now, Johnny knew he was a fucking train wreck.

 

He looked back at the stage. Rossetti was on the floor now, wending her way between the front tables. She singled out a man in a sport coat, sidled up next to him and sang. The guy looked like he was in heaven.

 

Jackie took the glass out of his hand, and Ray heard the liquid glugging as he topped it up. He shut his eyes. There was that weird feeling in his chest again, like there was a hook in there, being pulled. Jackie tapped his shoulder, and Ray reached out for his drink automatically. His stomach was scalding, like he really did have an ulcer, but the little tugging sensation in his chest eased off when he swallowed. _Thank God,_ he thought, as the drink warmed through him. _That’s better…_

 

He nearly dropped the glass with shock.

 

“Hey, you haven’t had that much to drink,” Jackie said, chuckling.

 

 _When the fuck did that happen?_ Ray thought, looking away from the singer, to the tumbler in his hand. _I used to hate this stuff._ He stared at the amber fluid, horrified. _I’ve only been here four months, how the hell did this happen? When did I start to actually wanting it?_ He’d been more worried about the pills, he hadn’t been paying attention to this one…

Jackie started hooting and hollering, clapping his hands enthusiastically as Rossetti finished her song. Ray was clapping too, but his hands felt very distant as skin hit skin. _What am I doing here? God’s sake, what the hell am I gonna do?_

Rossetti was singing again.

 

Jackie leant toward him, and whispered. “You want me to find out if she’s interested in you?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, following the script without even thinking about it. “I suppose.”

 

“You suppose. Fuck’s sake, Cuz, grow a pair.”

 

_I gotta get outta here…_

“Hey.”

 

Ray was on his feet, and Jackie had closed his hand around his forearm. _When did I stand up?_

“Hey, Cuz, sit down, she’s booked to come to our table. You’re gonna miss it.”

 

“I need to go to the john.”

 

“Oh come on, hold it in. You don’t wanna offend the lady, do you?”

 

Ray sat. There was no point his walking out – where would he go?

 

Rossetti had turned, and was now singing in their direction. Jackie nudged Ray again. “She’s looking at us. Who do you think she’s interested in? You or me?”

 

“You,” Ray said, numbly. Jackie really was so damn easy to predict, at least when it came to women. He was going to preen, and then offer Rossetti to him as though she was his to give. Going to pretend it was charity he was offering Ray from the goodness of his heart…

 

“Yeah, well. I reckon you’re right. But, you know, I’ve got enough going on. I’ll send her your way.”

 

Ray grunted. Shit. He was drinking again. He drained the rest of it in one gulp, then plonked the glass back on the table, upside down. Jackie reached out to offer another refill, and Ray put his hand over the tumbler. “Leave it,” he managed to say, and God Almighty, how could he sound so normal? “If you’re gonna aim her at me, I wanna have all my wits about me.”

 

Jackie was settling back in his chair, legs stretched out, and grinning again. “Good man, Cuz,” he said. “More for me.”

 

**_Saturday, June 21 st 2:30 am_ **

Johnny was already there when they got to Rossetti’s hotel room. He shut the door behind them as they stepped in and turned the lock.

 

“How you guys doing?”

 

“I’m fine, Johnny,” Rossetti said, her accent surprisingly different. A minute ago it had been all New York. Now it was a nasal Texas drawl. Ray blinked, disconcerted, as she sank into an armchair, kicked off her high heels, and started flexing her feet. Somehow, she’d managed to turn the sex appeal off, and despite her clothing, she looked like an ordinary brunette, nice curly hair, kicking back in her living room, wearing a jogging suit.

 

“Ray?” Johnny’s voice prodded him back to the moment.

 

“Yeah. Fine.” Ray studiously didn’t look either one of them in the eye.

 

“Come on. Sit down.”

 

Johnny put a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the couch. “Seriously, Ray, how are you?”

 

“I need some water.”

 

“Okay – gimme a minute.”

 

Ray watched as Johnny pulled bottles out of the minibar.

 

“Will sparkling do?”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Okay.” Johnny turned, and threw one of the bottles. To his surprise, Ray caught it. He also caught the flicker of relief on Johnny’s face.

 

 _He’s testing my reflexes,_ Ray thought. _Trying to figure out just how bad I am._

 

“Alright,” Johnny said, sitting on the couch beside him. “Let’s get the introductions out of the way. Amelia – as you know, this is our agent undercover as the Bookman. You don’t need to know his full name, but in private, call him Ray.”

 

Ray stared at his shoes. The Feds had realised he needed to be reminded who he was. _That’s good, isn’t it? That should help._

 

Amelia leant across to him, with a wide grin, and shook his hand. She had a firm handshake, like a man. Of course she did, she was sure of herself – a career Fed. “Nice to meet you, Ray,” she said.

 

Ray grunted an acknowledgement. It wasn’t her fault she’d been helicoptered in as his babysitter. And it wasn’t her fault that he hated her guts.

 

“Okay then. Ray – this is Amelia. She’s a highly experienced operative, and she’ll be able to help keep an eye on you between our meetings. She’ll watch out for you, and I think you’ll find you have a lot more support than you’ve been getting.”

 

Ray grunted again.

 

“Ray?”

 

“Yeah. Great, thanks.” He twisted the top off his water, taking a long moment to drain it to the last drop. “Listen,” he said, when he’d finished, “I’m really grateful and everything, but I gotta say this again. Why the fuck did you let it get this bad in the first place?"

 

The two agents exchanged a glance. Rossetti cleared her throat. “Ray,” she said. “This ain’t as bad as you think. You’re undercover in a culture where drug taking is normal.”

 

“The brothers don’t think it’s normal.”

 

“That’s because Armando was an addict. It’s not like neither of them have used recreationally –”

 

“You’re kidding. Sal? Mr. Clean?”

 

“When he was younger. That’s not the point. From your family history it does look like you’re at risk of addiction, but when we get you out of here, your whole life will change. Drugs won’t be all around you, you won’t be in such a high stress environment –”

 

“You never came to Sunday dinner at my house, did you?” Ray grinned at Johnny, who laughed. _That’s right, Johnny met Ma, and she threatened to kill him. He listened in on Sunday dinner._ For once, Ray didn’t resent it. Johnny felt like the closest thing he had left to Chicago. His heart ached, suddenly. They were laughing, but it wasn’t funny. He was never going to attend another family meal.

 

“Ray,” Rossetti said. “You may not believe it, but our P-docs were looking out for you. If they’d thought it was bad enough that you couldn’t do your job, they’d have pulled you. But you were doing okay.”

 

“I shoulda fucked up and got myself killed then. You’d a let me go home if I’d done that.”

 

“Ray,” she stiffened. “I have to ask this – you just made a suicidal joke. Is that something you’d ever consider?”

 

“What?” _Oh shit, Vecchio, you just put your foot in your mouth._ He tried to lighten the moment. “Making a bad joke?”

 

“I mean, have you considered suicide? Because if you have, I could make an argument that you should be pulled from the case.”

 

Ray stared at her. _What, now they give me an out? I could lie and tell ’em I’m gonna kill myself, and they’ll have to let me go home._ He snorted contemptuously at his own thoughts. _Yeah, right._ He wasn’t getting off that easily. _She didn’t say ‘home.’ She said ‘out.’ They won’t send me home. They’ll put me in a padded cell…_ Rossetti was staring at him intently and Ray’s blood went cold. He had to say something.

 

“You couldn’t a told me this before you turned me into a murdering, junkie, woman-beater?”

 

“Ray,” Johnny interjected, as though he wanted to make an excuse, “you’re not a – ”

 

Ray raised his hand to shut him up. “I know exactly what I am. And if I leave now, and these bastards get away with it, then I’ve spent all these months being a monster for nothing.” _Four months, five days._ “Three men I murdered –” He made a ‘zip it’ gesture at Johnny and kept going. “They killed two men right in front of me, for something I’d said, and I did nothing. I’ve tortured people.”

 

“You saved their lives,” Johnny interjected.

 

Ray leant forward, smiled, and pointed straight into Johnny’s face. “I cut out a man’s tongue to teach him not to gossip.” He paused for a moment, but Johnny seemed to have run out of loyal things to say. Ray nodded, simultaneously bitter and glad that the point was getting through his friend’s thick skull, when Johnny blurted out again:

 

“You got him to the hospital.”

 

“So?” Ray exploded. “So? I got him to a hospital, yeah, go me. I’m a saint. Told the brothers it was funnier that way – every time Murphy speaks now, people laugh at him, and remember not to mess with the Iguanas. I’m supposed to be a good guy because I let him live?” Ray shook his head and turned back to Rossetti. “Don’t you dare pull me out till the job is done, or I sold my soul for nothing.”

 

“Okay.” Rossetti nodded and sat back, with a look of respect. _Respect? How dare she?_ “Right. That’s your choice. And you should be proud of what you’ve achieved so far. You’ve got guts. And about this problem you have? We can manage it.”

 

“Proud of myself? Manage it?” he shook his head, incredulously. “You know what junkies are like. I’m gonna carry on using. Fuck’s sake, I want a bluey now.”

 

“Yeah, well, you ain’t getting one, Buster.” He blinked, then laughed at her directness. She grinned. “Sorry. It’s all we can do. So, you’re gonna see the doctor next, she’ll change your meds, to help with any cravings, and you got a problem, you come to me. Not Hannah.”

 

Ray dropped his head, stared at the mouth of the bottle between his knees, wishing it wasn’t empty, wishing it was something other than water, and didn’t say a word.

 

Rossetti started talking again. “Look, I’m sorry to be so harsh, and I know you got feelings for her, but part of staying clean is changing your lifestyle –”

 

Ray barked out a laugh. “Like that’s gonna happen here.”

 

“You’ll have to try. I know you can’t completely cut it out, but you’re gonna cut it down. Okay?”

 

Ray gave a single nod. “Okay.”

 

“When your assignment is over, we’ll get you good counselling and support for your recovery.”

 

_Is this woman insane? She thinks I’m gonna recover?_

 

“Look at me.”

 

 _Oh God –_ For a moment Ray flashed on Herzog, kneeling in the dirt, and his own voice, sharp as he bullied the man. _‘Look at me. Look –’_ He blinked, and looked up at her, frightened.

 

Her voice gentled. “I want you to know that I’ll never say anything I don’t believe. I’ll never sugar coat anything. You need to know you can trust me, Ray. I can be a real bitch sometimes, but I’m on your side.”

 

“I’ll remember that,” Ray whispered.

 

She stood. “Anyway, I’m gonna leave you now so you can talk to Johnny and the doctor privately. I’ll be through those doors.” She pointed toward the adjoining suite. “In the morning, I come back through, and we leave together. We can either have breakfast in here, or we eat downstairs, but the important thing is, we make sure someone sees us.”

 

Ray nodded, said nothing. There was nothing to say.

 

**_Thursday, July 18 th 3:52 pm_ **

 

Hannah hadn’t left the apartment in a week. She’d hardly got out of bed.

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Ray said, heart hurting. “Come on. Smile.”

 

She looked at him, and smiled. A hooker smile. It wasn’t anything like her real smile. He’d only just realised how much he looked forward to seeing her smile.

 

 _God,_ he thought, _I figured she’d be pissed, but I never thought she’d be so upset. I mean, I pay her – what, did she think she was my girlfriend?_

 

He sat on the mattress next to her and stroked her hair. Her highlights were growing out.

 

“You know she doesn’t mean anything to me.”

 

“That’s – that’s –” she hiccupped, then blew her nose messily on the sleeve of her pyjamas. “That’s not what it looks like.”

 

“I’ve got to see her. You know my cousins. They think…” God, he hated this, “they think it’s better for business.”

  
“Better than me? Because I’m a whore?”

 

“You don’t do that anymore,” he pointed out, bending down to kiss her. She turned her head away.

 

“Don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“Don’t kiss me. Not when you’ve been kissing her.”                                                                   

 

Ray sat back, and sighed. He couldn’t deny it. He had been kissing Rossetti. For nearly a month they’d been meeting two or three times a week, dining together in the best restaurants. Disappearing into their hotel, and not emerging till late morning. He’d even been enjoying some of it, sitting right where anyone could see him, covertly passing information to and fro. Made this stupid job feel almost like a game. ~~~~

_God, when I was a kid, I’d have thought this was the coolest job in the world._

 

And even though half the time he wanted to kill her, Rossetti was pretty cool herself. She was anything but fragile, and he needed that – some woman he could talk to without hurting. And sometimes she was so damn funny he even forgot to be sad. He had to admit, he liked the fact that this obviously unattainable woman was on his arm, and all Vegas knew it. He knew he was disgusting for thinking like that. He knew it wasn’t real, it was just a job – and he didn’t even want Rossetti. Not when –

 

He didn’t love Hannah. They had nothing in common. She laughed at his jokes because he paid her, not because she actually cared what he said. At least – that was what he had thought, before today. He laughed at her jokes because he was stoned, not because he cared about coral pink lipstick, or how big some hooker’s backside was. He liked her – that was it. She was a good kid, and too young for him.

 

So how come he couldn’t stop thinking about her? And how the hell had he made he cry?

 

_Fuck. What a mess._

 

“Fuck,” he said aloud. “What a mess.”

 

“You’re the one who messed it up.” She snuffled into the pillow, then flinched. “Maybe it was me.” She turned round suddenly, eyes wide, and shocked, as though she’d seen something ugly. “Was it me? Is that why you go to Amelia? Is it because I… is it because I used to have sex with other men?”

 

“No,” he said. _Oh God, she thinks it’s her fault._ “No. I don’t even think about that.”

 

“You’re not jealous?” she mumbled. “I’m not worth even that?”

 

“Jealous of what you used to do?” He touched her hair again, and she let him. “No.” He started stroking his fingers up and down her face. “But jealous of you? Yeah. Nobody’s allowed to hurt you.” _Except me,_ he thought, bitterly, remembering his hands on her throat.

 

She smiled a little. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. Really. It’s not your fault.” He knew it should bother him, but who was he to judge anyone? He’d done far worse than whore himself out. “It was your job. And you don’t have to do it anymore. You’re with me now. Why would I be jealous of that?”

 

Something strange flitted across her face – he couldn’t catch the expression before it was gone.

 

“You know Jackie’s nothing like you?”

 

“Yeah, I got that.” _Why’s she talking about Jackie?_ Ray was shocked by the sharp stab of jealousy.

 

“I mean, you never hurt me. Not really.”

 

His hand froze, just over her earlobe.

 

“Jackie hurt you?”

 

“I don’t mean like that. He didn’t – you know. He just… sometimes he was rough.”

 

Ray kissed her forehead, and tried not to think about her and Jackie, or her job. It didn’t matter anymore – nobody else would dare touch the Bookman’s girl. Or his… pet, or whatever the fuck he’d turned her into. “You want me to kill him for you?” _Shit, when had that line become a joke?_

She managed a laugh. “No, he’ll leave me alone now. Last time I saw him he said…”

 

“What?”

 

She bit her lower lip and her face twisted. “He said, ‘You’re not the Bookman’s _goomah._ You’re his whore.’”

 

Ray slid down, and lay beside her. She was shivering, and he wrapped her in his arms. “Hush, hush.” _I’m gonna kill Jackie for real._ “Don’t cry, Hannah. It’s not your fault.” _No. It’s mine, I shoulda left her where I found her, out in Nye County turning tricks. She was happier there. What the hell have I done to her?_

 

“It is though,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “It is my fault. I’m a whore.”

 

“You’re my girl,” he said, helpless not to. _What does that even mean?_ “Nobody’s allowed to touch you.”

 

“I’m not your girl, she is.”

 

“Did I put her up in an apartment?”

 

“No.”

 

“She’s just business, Hannah. You’re my girl.”

 

“You really don’t like her like that? Like you like me?”

 

“Oh, God, Hannah. I more than like you.”

 

Her lips tasted salty from tears.

 

“I love you, Armando.”

 

 _Don’t,_ he thought _, don’t call me that. Not when you’re saying you love me._

He knew she wanted him to say it, to say he loved her. But what good would it do? This couldn’t go anywhere. They weren’t going to get out of this together. He didn’t even know why he came here, why he still lay down on her bed. He’d do anything for her, but he couldn’t do a thing.

 

He didn’t say it. He couldn’t say he loved her. It wasn’t even true. He was kissing her instead. _Oh, stupid, stupid, Vecchio – don’t. Worse, you’re making everything worse…_

 

He kissed her, and let her pull him down, and forgot he was breaking his heart.

 

**_6:50pm_ **

 

“Are you going to answer that?”

 

“What?”

 

“Your phone.” Hannah’s voice was slurry with sleep, but happy again. “It keeps ringing.”

 

“Oh fuck,” Ray mumbled, and reached out blindly. “What?”

 

“Hey, Cuz. You were meant to come round to Sal’s – family dinner, remember?”

 

“Oh. Shit. I forgot.” Sal’s wife and kids had flown over from Italy. Looked like a reconciliation was on the cards.

 

“Yeah? Well, you’re a jerk, you know that? The kids keep asking why you’re not here.”

 

“I’m sorry – I’m really sorry. Look – they’re here for another week aren’t they? I’ll see ’em tomorrow.”

 

“Why don’t you come over now?”

 

“I’m…” He flopped his head down. “I’m kinda tired.”

 

“You’re always fucking tired,” Jackie shouted. Ray knew exactly what he looked like – brick red with anger, face snarling. He hoped the kids weren’t hearing this. “It’s not your ulcer,” Jackie’s voice dropped to a low growl, “at least, that’s what you’ve been telling me. So, why are you still tired?”

 

 _Because I’m sick of all this fucking shit, that’s why._ Ray gritted his teeth, and didn’t say it.

 

“Are you with that bitch Honey?”

 

He supposed he could lie, but Jackie might be having him followed. He wouldn’t put it past him.

 

“I’m with Hannah, yeah.”

 

“You turned down dinner with your nephew and nieces for that trash? You couldn’t even have gone with Amelia?”

 

“Look, I forgot, that’s all. You don’t gotta make a big thing of it.”

 

“I’ll send someone round for you.”

 

“I can’t…”

 

“Can’t what?” Jackie’s voice rumbled, dangerous and low.

 

“I’m kinda wasted,” Ray admitted. There was no other way round it. “You won’t want the kids to see me drunk.” He wasn’t actually drunk – he’d not had much at all – but he’d doubled up on his sleeping tablet way too early, and it had gone to his head.

 

“So, you’d sooner get drunk and fuck a whore than have dinner with your family? Marco’s really upset. He’s already upset about Joey –”

 

“Oh fuck off,” Ray yelled, finally snapping. “I can’t be bothered with this shit.”

 

The phone was ringing again, and Hannah was leaning over him, looking frightened. “You’re going to have to answer it,” she said. “That’s Jackie, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“If you don’t answer it, he’ll come here.” She hugged herself. “Don’t let him in.”

 

He sat up. “God – I’m sorry Hannah.” _You can do this, Vecchio._ He picked up the phone.

 

“Jackie.”

 

“You’d better have a damn good reason to talk to me like that.”

 

A little bubble of nausea rose in Ray’s throat. _He sounds just like Pa._

“Look, Jackie, I’m sorry.” He fought to keep his voice steady. Thank God he sounded okay. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, and I’m sorry the kids are upset –”

 

“Yeah, well, you get yourself over here, or I’m gonna come over and kick the door down.”

 

“I’m coming. Okay?”

 

Jackie sounded a little bit calmer. “Okay. Twenty minutes. More than that and I’ll get you myself.”

 

There was a click on the line, and the phone went dead. Ray stared at it, dazed.

 

“I gotta go, Hannah.”

 

“I know.” She chewed the knuckle of her thumb, gazing at him blearily. “You need a pick me up?”

 

“I… I don’t know.”

 

“You took your sleeping pill, didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She shook her head at him. “You can’t go like that, they’ll know you’re on something.”

 

“If I don’t go he’ll send someone.” He stood up, carefully, and steadied himself against the bedside table.

 

“Here. Take this. It’ll fix you right up.”

 

“I don’t need fixing.”

 

“Tell me about it.” She sniggered suddenly. “Sorry. I guess I’m high.”

 

“Hannah…” he sighed. “You ever think you’re doing too much?”

 

She pouted. “You take ’em too.”

 

He paused. “I know.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You are such a _man._ You don’t want it then?”

 

“I’m fine. Just… where the hell are my pants?” God, he was wobbly. _Shit,_ he realised, _I just got naked with Hannah._ He giggled.

 

“By the dresser.”

 

“Er…” _Where?_ “I’m gonna need those pills,” he admitted as he finally found his pants.

 

She knelt up on the bed smiling, and popped the dexies in his mouth. _God,_ he thought, swallowing. Her face was so happy it was almost blinding.  _I wish it was me who made her feel this good, not the damn drugs._ He kissed her again, and nearly forgot why he was going.

 

_Jeez, get outta here, Vecchio. You don’t want Jackie coming here and thinking Hannah got you stoned._

 

“I’ll try to get home later. You’re okay now?”

 

“Yeah.” She lay back on the bed, grinning. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

 

He stared at her for a moment, then managed to tear himself away. If he didn’t go now he’d never leave.

 

**_7:23pm_ **

As he walked up the cobblestones leading to Sal's front door, he braced for the inevitable confrontation with Jackie in the portico. But no one, not even a servant, was there to greet him. He let himself in, wandering through the house, sniffing. Jackie must be cooking – smelled like a really good meal for once. Sal would live on that powdered protein crap if you let him. They must be eating already.

 

And then he stepped into the dining room.

 

_Ma was standing at the table, serving farfalle alla boscaiola._

No – that was Margarita Langoustini – Sal’s wife. With her makeup, and big hair, and gold earrings, she looked nothing like Ma at all.

 

“Ma – Ma! You saw that! Nelly stole my bread.”

 

“You don’t need it anyway.” Frannie – Nelly – was sticking her tongue out at Maria – Alicia.  “Bread’s full of calories. And you’re fat.”

 

_God. It’s like I fell through a hole in time._

 

“Children, behave – what must your father think?”

 

“I am not fat!”

 

“You are, you’re a fat face.”

 

“Ma, she’s calling me fat!”

 

“Fat face, fat face, fat face!”

 

“Serenella Langoustini…” Sal’s voice, stern but secretly amused. _Nothing like Pa –_ “If you don’t say sorry to your sister I’m sending you to your room.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“She’s lying Pa, she doesn’t mean it. Send her to her room.”

 

“Pa, she…”

 

The room fell silent.

 

“Uncle Mando!”

 

Ray blinked at the little boy’s excited smile, and the next moment he had an armful of five year old nephew. _Little Tony._ Little Tony was hugging him, back when he was this small... _He’s not mine. He’s Marco. I’m not his uncle. I’m not home._

“Marco,” he remembered to say, as he knelt and hugged him back.

 

And then he was crying, like a fool. Like a failure. Pa didn’t even have to say it – _Oh God. Pa._ He looked up, and sure enough, the Old Man was sitting at the head of the table where Sal had just vacated his seat.

 

“Mando?”

 

"Sorry. Sorry, Sal." He looked away, avoiding his cousin's eyes, stared at the floor.

 

Marco looked sad and confused. He patted Ray's face. "Is it because of Joey?" he asked.

 

Ray nodded quickly. "Yeah, sorry, Marco," he said, rubbing his cheeks and trying unsuccessfully to stand. Shit. He collapsed back to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. "I'm sorry..." he apologized again, to no one and everyone.

 

He heard a noise, a murmur of voices, and lifted his head. Sal was striding toward him, eyes full of fury.

 

_Oh God, I'm high as a kite. And Sal knows it._


	5. Chapter 5

 

**_Date Unknown_ **

_Silence, and silence, and silence. He’s shaking._

_Oh shit, this is so not good._

_He focuses on the pain of the most recent beating, of the ache in his stomach where they kicked him, the pain in his ribs, because it’s better than his growing need for…_

_“Oh God,” he groans, “I need a drink.”_

_Immediately, he realizes his mistake because the woman lets out a satisfied chuckle. He twitches against his restraints. It's an almost imperceptible movement, but he knows she sees it._

_Stupid. Vecchio, you idiot. You just told them something they can use._

_He wants the other stuff too, but he doesn’t tell them that._

**_Friday 25 th July, 1997. 1.20 pm_ **

It was the kind of restaurant you’d see in a movie, but didn’t exist in real life. The tables looked like lilies floating on the water. Ray wasn’t sure, but he thought the tablecloths were silk. _Imagine the cleaning bill, getting red wine out of that._ The room was lit by – well, you couldn’t call it a chandelier, because it wasn’t hanging from a central point, and you couldn’t say it was fairy lights because those shiny drops looked like they were made of crystal. It was like a cloud of shining icicles, dripping snow.

 

With this assignment, he took many things for granted - fancy restaurants, expensive suits, a retinue of servants - but Rossetti was not one of them.   e didn’t particularly like her right now, because she stood between him and a fix – but he knew he was lucky to have her. He was looking forward to a bad day. The Russian thing wasn’t panning out, the brothers were antsy, and Muldoon hadn’t bitten yet.

 

_Fuck it. Don’t worry, the Feds will have a solution._

 

Amelia shrugged off her furs and handed them to the doorman. “The casinos keep the air conditioning running full blast” she said as they were led to their table, “sometimes I want to put gloves on.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Ray smiled, pulling out her chair. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “That’s why my fellow mobsters and I still wear our coats inside. Not just ’cause we look cool.”

 

She laughed. Ray took his seat opposite her, smiling into her eyes. They were supposed to be a romantic couple after all. “So, tell me, Ray.” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “You disappeared off the radar yesterday. How did you do?”

 

Ray was used to the question by now and answered it without embarrassment.

 

“We had another meeting with Tarasov – he was on vodka. I stuck to water, and let Jackie think I was getting the guy drunk and staying sober so I’d have the advantage.”

 

“I take it he approved.”

 

“Yeah. So did Sal, when he heard.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“I had a couple of drinks with Jackie after the –”

 

“A couple?”

 

“Well, three.” He wasn’t sure it was only three, but he knew it wasn’t more than five. Which wasn’t that bad, really. “And nothing today.” _Yet._ She nodded. She knew she’d get no better from him as things stood. He cleared his throat. “Tarasov is being cagey – apparently he did a dummy run, couple of months back, trying to get a small supply across border control, and it didn’t work out like he planned. But he won’t tell us what the problem was. Which pisses off the brothers like you wouldn’t believe. Don’t suppose you guys know, do you?”

 

“Yes –” She grinned at him. “Actually, I think you’re going to like this.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“They tried smuggling them through Chicago, and a friend of yours stopped them.

 

“A friend…”

 

“A Canadian friend.”

 

Ray stared at her, incredulous – then he started laughing. _Oh my God,_ he thought, _here I am, trying to smuggle weapons into the country, and Benny stops me. What are the odds of that?_ He covered his mouth, tried to calm down – _shit, I can’t stop laughing._ The smile was fixed on her face now, and she was staring at him a little too hard. “Oh God, I wonder did he wear the uniform?” _Get your act together, Vecchio._ It was one thing to laugh, another to howl like a hyena. “Sorry, sorry,” he managed, as he got himself under control. “But you gotta admit, it’s hilarious.”

 

“Okay,” her smile relaxed. “Unusual at least –” She patted his hand. “Try to not to crack up like that when you tell the brothers.”

 

“I’ll try.” He was just grinning now. “It’ll make me look good, figuring it out. You’ll have to fill me in.”

 

“Yeah, I will. It’ll help repair the damage from last week.”

 

“I hope so.” Ray paused while the pre-ordered dinner arrived. When the waiter had left he started talking again. “Though – they’re gonna keep watching me. Specially Sal. Seems to think it’s his fault for not looking out for me.”

 

“Strange way he had of showing it.”

 

Ray laughed, though not quite as hysterically as before. “Well, you could call it tough love, I suppose.”

 

“Could do. He could have drowned you.”

 

“Well, he scared me awake, that’s for sure.” Ray chuckled. “It’s actually almost funny.”

 

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re finding a lot of things funny right now. People in this restaurant must think I’m the most entertaining dinner date on the planet.”

 

He groaned. He knew where this was going.

 

“Are you high?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry. It’ll wear off.”

 

“What did you take?”

 

He glared. “What, am I on trial?”

 

“Just checking that you’re not escalating or moving onto harder drugs.

 

“Fuck.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I’m an idiot, but there are two things I’m never gonna do. I’m never gonna inject, and I’m never gonna snort. So don’t worry about coke or that shit.” He sat back, and she was nodding.

 

“So what was it?”

 

“Just dexie,” he muttered. He didn’t tell her that he’d started opening the gelatin capsules so he could put the grains directly on his tongue. That was a junkie trick, now he thought of it. He’d first heard of it when he worked Vice, and thought, contemptuously, _stupid bastards._ Yeah, well, the joke was on him. And it did get the first hit to you quicker.

 

“How many?”

 

He lied to her. “Two.”

 

“Why did you need ‘em?”

 

“I took my meds late last night.”

“Anything else?”

 

“That’s it. I just couldn’t wake up, that’s all.”

 

She had to know he was lying. Still, she smiled and leaned coquettishly across the table. “You can do better than this,” she told him. “You know you can. Tonight, you come to the hotel, let us look after you.”

 

 _I fucking hate you._ “Okay.” Shit, they’d give him that stuff that made him feel like a zombie retard, even if it did shut Armando and Pa up, and help him sleep.

 

“And about Sal,” she said. “You know, if his kids hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have been so funny. He might have actually hurt you.”

 

That was true. Sal had looked like he wanted to kill him for a moment. Instead, he hoisted Ray up over his shoulder, marched out of his house, and threw him in the swimming pool. _So that’s why these guys have pools,_ Ray thought, biting down the last of his chuckles. _To try to drown each other in._

_‘Don’t you ever,’_ Sal had shouted, _‘turn up like that again. In front of my kids. You sick fuck.’_ Of course later, after the kids had gone to bed, Sal had turned on Jackie. _‘If you knew about this, why didn’t you say something? Or were you waiting for the best time for Mando to embarrass himself? You wanna be glad it didn’t happen in public.’_

 

“I’m surprised I’m still _consigliere,”_ Ray admitted to Rossetti, feeling chastened. “I thought for sure Sal would drop me after that.”

 

“We all did, but it seems Sal doesn’t trust Pender.”

 

“Pender?” Ray considered it. “Yeah, I’ve thought about Pender for _consigliere._ He’d be Jackie’s choice.”

 

“He is Jackie’s choice. Don’t think they didn’t talk about it. Sal’s main concern is that if there’s a change in ‘management’ now the triumvirate will look unsettled. And he doesn’t like Pender. So, you have a period of grace. Don’t fuck it up.”

 

“I won’t.” Ray was feeling well and truly sober now. He reached across the table, and touched her cheek. They were being watched, although the Feds had scoped this restaurant and reassured them that they couldn’t be heard. Ray leant forward and pretended to whisper sweet nothings. “So what do I do to make Sal trust me again?”

 

“Just keep making them money hand over fist. And tell them about this Russian thing.” She focussed on him acutely, but he wasn’t laughing anymore. “Stay as sober as you can. Sal reckons Armando’s still mourning his kids, and it only got that bad, because the children were visiting for the first time. Or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself.”

 

“Fuck, that guy’s got faith in his cousin.”

 

“Yeah, well. Don’t be too confident. He tries to have faith. Apparently Armando beat it before, he thinks you can do it again. Jackie’s pissed about it – he definitely wants you deposed.”

 

Ray nodded. “That one’s kinda obvious.” He played with his food. “What I can’t figure out is if it’s a new thing. We know he argued with Armando a lot, but do you think he knows there’s something off with me? I mean, well – he doesn’t know why I’m different but he senses it somehow?”

 

“We don’t know. To be honest, Sal knew your brother better. If anyone makes you, the higher ups think it will be Sal.”

 

“Sal?” Ray hadn’t even thought of that. “Shit.” He looked at the mineral water she’d ordered, and wished it was a real drink.

 

“Look, try not to worry about it, but just keep your phone on you if we need to warn you quick. Jackie wants you to slip up, Sal wants you to prove him wrong.”

 

_‘Try not to worry.’ Nice advice there, Feebie._

 

“I’ll prove him wrong,” Ray said.

 

Rossetti nodded. “You’re doing a lot better.” She paused. “You need to break it off with Hannah.”

 

Ray bit his lip. Rossetti was right, he knew that, but –

 

Like everything else that had happened since he’d got to Vegas, once he started, he was out of control. Couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. _Poor Hannah –_ somehow she’d become another of his addictions.

 

“No,” he said. “I don’t think I can do that.”

 

**_3.27 pm_ **

*

In the changing room of the upscale boutique, Hannah turned round and round in front of the full-length mirrors. She stretched her arms out, pirouetting like the ballerina on top of the music box Ma had owned. She looked like looked like Frannie, back when Frannie was seven, spinning around in her first communion gown. ~~~~

Not that Hannah’s dress was anything like Frannie’s had been. It was the deep gold of Manuka honey, just a little lighter than Hannah’s skin. The fine silk clung to her figure, leaving little to the imagination, before splitting at the knee to expose her long smooth legs. She was crooking her head over her shoulder now, to see what she looked like from the back.

 

_Wow._

 

“You like that one?”

 

“Yes,” she said, smiling at herself in the mirrors as she turned, then looked back at him. “Yes. I mean – are you sure you can afford it?”

 

Ray barked out a laugh.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you –”

 

“I’m not insulted.” He stepped up to her, and touched her arm. “And yeah, I can afford it.”

 

“Really?” She looked at herself in the mirror again, like a little girl frightened her doll was going to be taken away. “I can really have it?”

 

“Yeah, Hannah. ‘Course you can.”

 

She tilted her head up, and let her eyes fall shut. Very gently he dropped a kiss on her smile. She sighed against his lips, and looked up at him, her eyes suddenly sad.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” she lied and pasted a smile back on.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, as though he knew what they were talking about. “You’re gonna be the most beautiful woman there.”

 

“You think?”

 

“I know.” He glanced at the lady standing by the door. “We’ll just ask them to take some final measurements, and they’ll send it round to you when it’s just right.”

 

“Isn’t it just right now?”

 

“Needs taking in a little here.” He rested his hand on her waist. “Then it’ll be perfect.”

 

“You know we’re all alone in here,” Hannah said, softly. Ray looked over his shoulder. It was true.

 

“You’ve got a one track mind,” Ray said, trying to sound disapproving.

 

“We should sit over here,” Hannah said, and giggled. “Then when they come back in every one will think we’ve been fooling around.”

 

“In that dress?”

 

“You’d have to get me out of it first.”

 

She settled herself on the couch and gave a sultry smile. The effect was ruined when she started sniggering.

 

Ray sat next to her, amused, and lifted one of her legs, rested her foot on his lap. Those high heels must be real killers. He slipped her shoe off, and started massaging her foot.

 

“Oh, that’s nice,” she sighed and closed her eyes.

 

Yeah. It was nice. She looked almost as relaxed as when she was sleeping. Ray watched her face, and smiled. “You know what this thing is that we’re sitting on? It’s called a fainting couch. You’re supposed to swoon on it.”

 

“Like this?” She lay back, and put a hand on her brow. “Oh, Armando,” she fluttered, sounding like Scarlett O Hara in Gone with the Wind. Ray bit his lower lip to stop himself from laughing, and started tickling her toes. “Hey,” she squeaked. “Stop that!”

 

“Sorry,” Ray chuckled. “Couldn’t help it.”

 

“Not nice to tickle.”

 

“Other foot.”

 

She wriggled, and presented the other foot.

 

After another five minutes she murmured, “How long can we stay here?”

 

“Not much longer,” he said, apologetically. “I gotta see my cousins.”

 

“Business?”

 

“Always,” Ray said.

 

“Anything interesting?”

 

“Boring as all hell,” he replied.

 

“Oh.”

 

He gave her a narrow look. She had her eyes closed, and was looking oblivious, but he always had a flash of suspicion when she asked him about Armando’s work. Stupid really – it wasn’t like she was going to talk about him to anyone else, whatever Johnny said. She knew a good thing when she saw it, and kept her end of the bargain, and she was certainly enjoying herself. But paranoia was second nature by now.

 

“Here you go,” he said, releasing her foot. “All done.”

 

She looked down and wriggled her toes. “Shame, I was enjoying that.”

 

“Me too,” he admitted.

 

“They’ll be sore again tonight, you know.”

 

“Yeah? Well, I might have to drop work and look after them for you.”

 

“Thank you, Armando.” There it was again. That real smile… Ray reached out his hand to help her up, when the door opened.

 

“Oh, sorry, Sir, Mr Langoustini…”

 

The manager had opened the door, and was blushing furiously. Ray looked at her, then at the picture he and Hannah presented – her stretched out on her back, one bare foot still on his lap, him reaching over her.

 

What did it say about him that he wasn’t even embarrassed? If anything, this would be good for the Bookman’s reputation.

 

“It’s alright,” Ray said, standing up and brushing his jacket as he started his ‘Armando’ impersonation. “Shouldn’t have got distracted. I got a meeting to get to. So, sweetheart,” he turned to Hannah and helped her to her feet. “I’m gonna leave the limo out front. You come down when you’re finished here. You got a girlfriend you wanna go shopping with?”

 

“Oh – yes. There’s Clara. You know Clara?”

 

“Yeah. I know Clara.” _Jackie,_ Ray thought sourly, _knows her better._ “Well, pick up Clara, you girls go out for lunch, get yourselves whatever you like. You got an open account any casino you care to go. Just talk to the Floor Manager – tell ’em I sent you.”

 

Hannah’s eyes went big. “I couldn’t…”

 

“Course you can. You gotta…” he flapped his hand in a circle, looking for the word. “Accessorise, or coordinate, or whatever you’re meant to do when you get a new dress. Handbags and shoes and that shit. If you can’t think of anything to buy, ask Clara. She’ll think of something. Tell her she can get what she likes as well.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. Go wild. You deserve it.”

 

“Eeeeh!” She squealed, and he laughed as she bounced up on her bare toes and hugged him.

 

“Hey, come on.” He popped a kiss on her forehead. “I gotta go. See you tonight.”

 

He nodded at Valerie, gave Hannah the mandatory pat on the butt, and left.

 

 _That was my ‘happy’ for the day,_ he thought, as he climbed into the back of the limo. _Now I gotta see the brothers._

 

Well, maybe he’d have another little island of happy later. The Feds would be waiting for him in Rossetti’s hotel but…

 

He should go to Amelia, he knew that but –

 

Who was he kidding? He was having to put up with the brothers next. He knew damn well when he was finished he’d go to Hannah instead.

 

**_4:45PM_ **

_If I wasn’t bald to start with, I would be by now._

 

Ray stood at his desk, hands braced against the edge of it, glaring at the papers. Somehow, someway, he had to make this situation make sense. And he had to get the damn shipment into the country.

_Shit. If I’m not careful, Tarasov will sell to someone else, and then…_ Ray rubbed his forehead against the incipient headache. _Yeah, well, if that happens the Feds can’t control the damage, and get the fucking bastards._ He had to get this right. If he got this right, those weapons couldn’t be used against anyone.

 

If he got it wrong…

 

If he got it wrong, the Bookman would have failed the major contract of his career, they’d be out millions, and even Sal wouldn’t trust him again. The Feds might try to get him out, but what would be the point? He’d have spent 4 months one week and a day turning himself into a monster, for nothing. He might as well let the brothers kill him.

_I’m not gonna get this wrong._

 

“So, Cuz,” Jackie strolled over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, as if in friendship. Ray resisted the urge to shrug it off. “You look worried.”

 

“Nah, not worried. Just thinking…”

 

Jackie snorted. “Looks like it hurts…”

 

“Leave him, Jackie,” Sal warned. “Don’t start. He’ll think of something.”

 

“Hope he does it soon.”

 

“He always thinks of something.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray muttered, and scratched his chin. “Yeah, I always do.”

 

Jackie rolled his eyes. “Modest, ain’t you?”

 

Ray glared. “I’m thinking.” Jackie made a huff noise, and wandered to the drinks cabinet. Ray bit his lower lip, ignored him, and turned back to the papers. _It’s a bit early,_ Ray told himself. _You can have one later._ So far that tactic had helped today. He’d wanted a drink at three, he promised himself one at four. And then, come four, he was distracted. _Anyway, we’re supposed to be working._ “Damn Russians,” he muttered, and spread the documents out on display, all across his expensive desk. He’d wanted this meeting at Armando’s place, but some of the papers here were far too sensitive to leave the office. Later, when Jackie and Sal left, he’d use the watch-cam, assuming Armando didn’t turn up to fuck with him. For now –

 

“I thought you said the numbers added up,” Jackie challenged him, as he came back with his drink.

 

“The numbers do add up,” Ray snapped. “I been over them twenty times.”

 

“So, what’s the fucking problem?”

_God, he’s carrying on like this is my fault…_ “Problem is the supply routes.” Ray drummed his fingers on the map. He pointed. “Look at it. I don’t see how this will work.”

 

“They’re the ones who suggested it.”

 

“Yeah, well, they wanna think a bit more about their own geography. Border patrol’s been all over this area lately. And I’m not so sure about some of their connections either. Think some of ’em might be under investigation.”

 

“You think?” Jackie turned, looked at him narrowly. “What makes you think that?”

 

“A few of their top guys just vanished. Siberia’s a graveyard, I get that, and they’ve had their own family wars, but I don’t think all those guys are buried in the snow. The opposition can’t have taken them all out.”

 

Sal bent over the maps with a frown. “Where do you reckon they are, Mando? What’s going on?”

 

Ray dropped onto his swivel chair, and kicked with his heels, scooting along to the manifest listings. He lifted it, compared it to the map, then looked at the ‘family tree’ of Russian personnel he’d figured out over the last few months.

 

He leaned back with a sigh, thinking about it. “I reckon it’s the Russian version of the Feds,” he admitted. “Got some of their guys in witness protection, maybe.” Johnny hadn’t told him that, but it was the only thing that made sense. “That’s why these trade routes are crawling with border patrol all of a sudden.” He leaned forward, and crossed out some of the names. “Someone high up in the organisation turned traitor and squealed to the authorities.”

 

“Shit,” Sal said.

 

“Fuck,” snarled Jackie. “You think Tarasov is in on it?”

 

“Tarasov’s middle management. It’s not him.” He shrugged. “Hey, I might be wrong. And anyway, there’s gonna be a way round it. There’s always a way round. Gimme a while to look into it.”

 

Jackie was glaring at him, like he was personally responsible for the fuck up. Sal had a shrewd expression for a moment, as though waiting for Ray to make a mistake. He’d been ‘off’ with him since the incident at the family dinner.

 

Ray shook his head at them both. “Fuck’s sake, what are you worried about? It’s not like we ain’t had crap to sort out before.”

 

“You were on your game then,” Jackie muttered. Ray shot him a sharp look. Jackie lifted his hands in a ‘who, me?’ gesture, as though he’d said nothing.

 

Ray turned his face away from him, looked squarely at Sal. “Don’t worry,” he reassured him. “We’ll think of something.” Ray slid one of the sheets out, and stared at the mathematical projections. He’d spent hours working this stuff out – okay, so the Feds had helped, but he was pretty damn proud of himself. _Who’da thought I’d get so good at Math? Mr Kirby’d have a fit if he could see me now…_ Ray chuckled. All he’d ever needed was the correct motivation _– learn, or you die painfully in the desert._

 

He grinned at the brothers.“Gotta say though, Jackie, I’m liking these numbers.”

 

Jackie nodded, slightly mollified, either by Ray’s confidence or the bourbon. “I’d still love to know how Tarasov fucked up the dummy run.”

 

Ray looked up at the brothers, with a smug grin on his face. “Didn’t I tell you about that?”

 

“What, you know something?”

 

“I got my sources,” Ray said, cryptically. “The Russians did get a sample across the border, probably luck more than anything, then tried to see if they could get it through Chicago.”

 

“Why Chicago?”

 

“Beats me.” _Because the gods of irony are using me for target practice._

 

“So? What happened?”

 

“Some damn Mountie and a Chicago flatfoot stopped ‘em.”

 

“A Mountie?” Jackie looked suitably gobsmacked. “In Chicago?”

 

“Yeah.” _Oh shit._ Ray bit his lower lip. _I’m gonna crack up again…_ He’d kinda hoped it was out of his system, but this was more panic than humour.

 

“What’s so funny?” Sal was peering at him intently.

_Stop it you idiot._ The last thing he needed was the brothers thinking he’d lost the plot. “Sorry.” Ray pulled himself together, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m just trying to picture the look on the Russians’ faces when a damn Mountie turns up and arrests ‘em.”

 

“It’s not that funny,” Sal said, staring at him too hard. “We still can’t get the damn stuff in the country.”

 

Jackie smirked.

 

“What’s with that face, Cuz?” Ray asked. “You might as well have ‘I told you so’ written on your head.”

 

“I did tell you so. We shoulda put more money into the Yakuza – drugs are easier to shift.”

 

Ray opened his mouth, about to argue – then smiled. This was the perfect moment to pull the ace from the deck. “We’ll shift it.”

 

“What? You had an idea.” Sal folded his arms across his broad chest. “See, Jackie? He’s got that light bulb over his head again.”

 

“We need another middleman.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Jackie scoffed. “Someone else to split the proceeds with and –”

 

“Shush, hear him out.”

 

“Not an _other_ middle man, what I mean is a _different_ middleman. What we do is, get an experienced guy. Not someone who can’t get a crate of rifles from A to B.” He snorted contemptuously. “When it comes to the deal, we’ll cut Tarasov out entirely. After all, he’s the one who let us down. We get the weapons across, Tarasov can’t do anything.” _Actually, Tarasov’s bosses will probably kill him for fucking up, but… don’t think about that now._ Ray blinked, and stifled a groan.

 

Armando was standing between Jackie and Sal, smiling and nodding with approval. In his head, Ray could hear his brother’s voice. 'Good idea,' it said, 'I couldn't do better myself. _’_

_Oh God, I didn’t take my anti whatchamacallit from the Feds._

 

“Yeah? And who’s this magical middleman?”

 

For a bizarre moment Ray wondered if Jackie could see Armando standing between him and Sal. He shook his head to clear it of the stupid notion.

 

“I’ve got some names.” Ray pulled out a sheet. “There’s the Irish, of course – we’ve been dealing with them on a small scale. Don’t think they’ve got the experience for a big shipment, and besides, the British government are all over the IRA at the moment.”

 

“Okay, Mando, so scratch the Micks off the list. We’d have to deal with them through the Boston Bastards anyway, and I don’t like them.” Ray sniggered. That wasn’t the Irish Mob’s actual name – they weren’t even from Boston, they were the Paddies right here in Nevada – but somehow it had stuck. “Who else you got?”

 

Ray stared at the names. “I think we’re best going with someone who has no political axe to grind at all. Customers – great, use ’em all. We can sell to the lot of them. But for our actual importer there’s only one who’s not politically invested. That’s what we need.”

 

“Well, spit it out, Cuz.”

 

“Canadian guy,” Ray said, with an odd feeling of resentment. _Why did he have to be Canadian? Canadians are meant to be good guys._ “Holloway Muldoon. He’s our middle man.”

 

“Oh, fuck me!” Jackie exploded. “What the fuck are you thinking, Cuz? The bastard’s impossible to get hold of.”

 

“I’ve made contact with one of his associates –”

 

“How?” Jackie’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, his whole body thrumming with distrust. Ray rubbed his face.

 

_Shit, I’m in trouble, Jackie’s dangerous._

 

“Look, Jackie” he jabbed his finger on a map for emphasis. “It’s my job to have the ideas and do the research. It’s your job to chase them down.  I’ve got some numbers –”

 

“Yeah, but how the fuck do you do that, Cuz?”

 

“Like I said, I got my sources.” Ray felt cold. If they kept asking he had a cover story, but the truth was, he’d got the contact details from the Feds _._ He forced aggression into his voice. “You want me to give you a list of all my snitches?”

 

Sal waved his hand dismissively. “Bad for business,” he said. “We all got guys, they got to know we don’t blab to anyone.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Jackie shook his head. “Just the way Armando’s been acting–”

 

“Shut up about that,” Sal snapped. “He knows what he’s doing. Anyway,” he exchanged a glance with his brother. “I need to talk to Mando alone.”

 

“Yeah,” Jackie nodded, and finished his drink. “Well, I gotta go. See you later, Cuz. We got that crappy opera to go to tomorrow. Remember?”

 

Ray gave his cousin a filthy look. “Of course I do.”

 

“Just asking.”

 

Jackie ambled from the room, leaving Sal and Ray alone.

 

Sal strolled around, and Ray realised, suddenly, that the man was looming.

 

“Looks like good work,” Sal said.

 

“Yeah, well, it’s taken months to –” Ray stopped talking. Sal was pointing a gun at him. “What the fuck, Sal –”

 

“Strip.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I wanna know if you’re wearing a wire.”

_Holy Shit._ _Rossetti was right - Sal made me first._

 

“Why would I be wearing a –”

 

“Strip.”

 

Okay, he’d always known this might happen, he might be strip-searched, and he’d never worn a wire, but –

 

“Oh fucking hell,” he muttered and started pulling off his clothes. He was down to his underpants and socks when Sal raised a hand.

 

"Okay, that's enough," Sal said, his relief obvious in his voice. "No hard feelings..."

 

“Why would you think I’d do that?” Ray said, his voice shaking as he pulled his clothes back on. Fuck, his fingers were trembling. He couldn’t get the buttons done up on his shirt. “Why would you think I’d set you up?”

_‘Because he’s right,’_ Armando said, making him jump. _‘You’re a fucking traitor.’_

 

“You’re not the same, Mando. You’ve not been the same since you got back. I thought at first it was because of what happened…” Sal could still barely bring himself to admit what had happened to Mando’s family. He turned and walked to the window, letting Ray finish getting dressed. “But then, it’s like you’ve gone soft or something. That thing with Smithson – when Jackie told me – I still can’t believe you offered him ten percent.”

 

Armando sat on Ray’s desk and glared at him. _Shit, I really should have taken the_ _anti-thingumy whatsit._

 

“Sorry,” Ray muttered. They’d had this argument before. He wasn’t up to a rehash of it now.

 

“After all the time and effort you took, pulling him in, and then…” Sal shook his head. “Never mind. We got him.” He paused. “You done, Mando?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sal turned at the window and looked at him. The lines of his face were taut with concern. “I gotta ask it. Are you – you know.”

 

“Am I using?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ray’s mouth went dry. “A bit,” he admitted. “I have been.”

 

Sal dropped his head, and his shoulders slumped. “Shit,” he muttered, under his breath. Ray chewed the inside of his cheeks. The worst thing any junkie could ever say was ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I promise it won’t happen again.’

 

“How’d you start?”

 

“Uhm…” He might as well tell the truth. “Doctor gave me some sleeping tablets. Because, I couldn’t sleep. And then, because I was getting nightmares, he gave me something else. And then – I still couldn’t sleep, so I…”

 

“So you got yourself other stuff.”

 

“Yeah. And then I couldn’t wake up. So –”

 

“You’re not doing coke, are you?”

 

“Fuck no!”

 

Sal walked up to him, and stared closely into Ray’s eyes. _Shit, he’s checking my pupils_. “Yeah.” The big man grunted. “You’re telling the truth. Besides,” he paused. “I know what you look like on coke. So, there’s something at least.”

_Fucking hell, what kinda screw up was my brother?_ Ray looked at the ghost. The ghost shrugged his shoulders. Ray turned away in disgust.

 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Sal prodded him in the chest, almost a one-fingered thump. “You’re gonna keep your shit together till this deal comes through. Do what you have to, don’t want you jonesing in the middle of a meeting, but don’t let anyone else know you gotta problem. Then your ulcer plays up, and we get you into hospital. Then you come out, and you never, ever pull this crap again. Or I’m gonna have to kill you. I’m not kidding around. You start up like this again after rehab, I am going to kill you. You got me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“’Yes,’ what?”

 

Ray stared. Sal had never pulled rank on him like this – not before. “Yes, Boss.”

 

“Good. Good.” Sal’s face broke out in a smile, though he looked suddenly tearful. “Shit, Mando,” he said, and started straightening Ray’s tie. “I know it’s been hard but –”

 

Ray looked at the floor.

 

“We thought you were dead. And then you come back, you’re not the same. It’s worse than when your Ma died.” He stopped, cleared his throat, stood back for a moment. “You’re not –”

 

“Not what?”

 

“You’re not gonna try again, are you?”

 

“Try what?”

 

“Cause this time, I won’t save you. You try and kill yourself, I’ll let you.”

 

“I won’t try,” Ray said, a sudden lump in his throat. He looked at his brother. The ghost flinched – finally, something he was ashamed of – and vanished. Sal nodded, relieved.

 

“You’re not that bad,” he said. “God – look. I’m sorry I had to ask, but Jackie said you’d been talking to..." His voice trailed off, and he gesticulated at the air. "Talking to..." He grimaced. "Yourself,” he concluded, clearly meaning something else.

_Not in front of Jackie I haven’t,_ Ray thought, and his heart was suddenly in his boots.

 

Only one person, other than the Feds, knew about his ‘ghosts.’

 

“Come here,” Sal pulled him into a fiercely _famiglia_ embrace, kissed his cheeks, then patted them. “I’ll leave you to sort this out.” He gestured at the paperwork. “Jackie’s waiting, so I’ll not keep you.”

 

_Yeah, that’s right. Jackie’s waiting. They thought they’d need help disposing of my body…_

 

When Sal left, Ray pulled open his drawer, shook out a handful of perc and took one of the Feds anti thingummy whatsits. He crunched them with his teeth and swigged them down with a shot of bourbon. With slow deliberation he walked round the table, and photographed every last document, twice.

 

And then, Ray went to the hotel to see Rossetti. He was early. By the time she met him at the bar, he’d lost count of what drink he was on.

 

“Bad day at the office?”

 

“Yeah, you could say that.”

 

“I know just how to fix that,” she said, for the benefit of the bartender. “Come on, sweetie, Amelia knows just what you need.”

_No, you don’t. I need it to stop._

 

Rossetti brought him water from the minibar (carefully teetotal he noticed – the hardest drink in there was cola.) He debriefed with Johnny, told him exactly what had just happened, admitted he was wasted. He saw the doctor, and did every damn thing she told him to, including drinking charcoal because he couldn’t remember how much he’d taken of what.

 

And he was stoned out of his skull, but he didn’t sleep, and didn’t sleep, and didn’t – until he slept, and then he screamed some.

 

Rossetti was sitting next to his bed, with the light turned low, reading a book. He hadn’t realised she wore glasses to read. _Shit, they’re keeping an eye on me…_ He rolled over, with his back to her, and didn’t sleep…

 

Because, oh God – Hannah had been talking to Jackie.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**_Date Unknown_ **

 

_He smells it, and his mouth goes so dry it hurts. He hears the click of his adam’s apple as he gulps, and is ashamed._

_“Here you go, good boy.” A paper cup. He tries not to, but he swallows. The liquor burns his tongue, scalds down his throat. Some cheap crap – no point wasting the good stuff on him. His cheeks go hot, with a combination of alcohol and humiliation. “If you want more,” the woman says, “you’ll have to give us something.”_

_“There’s nothing to give,” he tells her. He hears more liquid splashing into the cup. She puts the lip of it against his mouth, then withdraws it. “There’s nothing to give,” he says._

_“Maybe if we get him drunk,” she mutters. There is obviously someone else in the room. Ray tries to imagine them – can’t. Can’t even imagine her, as anything other than a voice, soft shoes and the smell of lilac. She puts the cup back against his mouth. He jerks his head away, hard, and the cup spills, the liquor, wasted, running down his front._

_She clicks her tongue. “We’ll have to think of something else.”_

**_Tuesday 29 th July, 1997: 4:15 pm._ **

 

Ray paused outside the door to Hannah’s apartment, and closed his eyes. _What the fuck am I doing here?_ She’d avoided him for the last few days – she’d never done that before. She’d made excuses. Was she talking to Jackie? Asking him for advice? What? He didn’t know what he’d do when he got through that door – _please God, don’t let me hit her._ But – oh shit. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t stay away.

 

He’d managed three days, and here he was, half tranqued, standing in the hallway, listening to her sing.

 

She sang like an angel. He thought so anyway. Half the hookers in Vegas arrived here dreaming of becoming a performer. Well, that hadn’t worked out quite the way Hannah’d planned.

 

She had hopes though, now that she was with him. Since he’d started introducing her around she was playing the piano again, working on her ‘set.’ She’d told him her Grandmother taught her – well, he coulda guessed that. Every time she played, she warmed up with old hymns before she got onto the good stuff.

Right now she was singing Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha Franklin or something... Her voice was a little too thin for it, but oh –

 

_‘If you wanna do right, all night woman, you gotta be a do right, all night man.’_

 

Did she have to be so – so fucking lovely?

 

‘ _She talked to Jackie,’_ Armando told him – or it might have been his own voice. He didn’t know. _‘She’s a bitch.’_

_‘Leave it, Mando. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation.’_

_‘Oh, yes, there’s an explanation.’_ This time it really was his brother’s voice. _‘She’s a traitor, just like you.’_

 

Ray stared at his brother. “Do you know something I don’t?” he asked, aloud.

 

_‘She’s a woman,’ his brother shrugged. ‘Of course she’s going to screw you over.’_

“That’s no fucking help.” If Mando knew the truth he wasn’t saying, and Ray was as in the dark as ever. Maybe she had her period. Maybe she was like Frannie and didn’t show her face if she came out in pimples, who knew? She didn’t have to be a spy for Jackie. Besides, how would she know that Ray knew about her? But, she _had_ been avoiding him.

 

 _Maybe I talk in my sleep,_ he thought, with a sudden jolt. No… the Feds would have told him. He barely dreamt anymore, the stuff they had him on. If he’d been made he’d be dead – no. He hadn’t talked in his sleep.

 

Still… she shouldn’t be talking to Jackie, even if there was an innocent explanation. He’d paid Jackie to take over her contract, after all. There was no reason for them to talk.

 

She might still be a traitor though; before she became Ray’s – whatever the fuck she was – she was one of Jackie’s girls.

 

_I thought she was my girl. Everyone knew that – I looked after her._

 

He leant his head against the door, and listened to her finish off her practice by running through her scales. She stopped playing, and started walking around the apartment still singing.  Her footfall, though soft, was distinctive. She was dancing.

 

He could see her, in his mind’s eye, spinning on the spot, and before he could stop himself, let out a groan. The singing stopped, and he heard her, scampering down the hall to let him in. He steeled himself, and straightened as she opened the door.

 

“Armando,” she said, her face wreathed in what seemed like a genuine smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

                                                                                                                                                                                  

“Yeah.” Despite everything, he was smiling back. He followed her to the living room. His heart hurt. _God, she made me happy. How could I be so blind?_ “I finished up early today. What…” He sat on the expensive couch, looked at the expensive furniture, looked out the window onto the expensive view. “What you been doing?”

 

His brother sat on the arm of the couch, next to him, and nudged him with a chilly elbow. _‘What do you think she’s been doing?’_ The voice in Ray’s head was spiteful. _‘She’s been running around all over Vegas spending our money.’_

 

“Went to lunch with Clara… you sure you don’t mind her spending your money?”

 

_‘See? What did I tell you?’_

“She’s not spent as much as you think,” Ray said, trying to ignore his brother. “I can afford it.” Clara spent more than Hannah, actually, but Hannah liked to have her friend around, and Ray couldn’t grudge it. It wasn’t his money anyway, and even if it had been, so what? He wasn’t about to run out of it any time soon. Enough people had suffered and bled for the damn stuff – at least it was making someone happy.

_Yeah,_ he thought bitterly, and it was his own thought, not Armando’s. The ghost had gone. _But she betrayed you._

“If you’re sure,” Hannah said, chewing the knuckle of her thumb. It dawned on him for the first time how studied that childlike gesture was – she wanted to chew her nails, but they were too expensive. He thought of Sarah, and her practical hands, her blunt thumb.

 

“I’m sure. What else you done today?”

 

She snuggled in next to him on the couch. “I was just playing the piano.”

 

“I know you were.” He lifted his arm and let her nestle against his shoulder. “I heard you.” She laid her head on his chest. Despite the calmers he’d taken, his heart was beating very hard. Any minute now he was either going to kiss her, or run from the apartment. _Stop, stop, stop it. Don’t let her hold you. Don’t hold her. Let her go._

 

“That’s what you were doing?” She’d wriggled up, and was kissing him, little feathers of touch against his face. “Listening?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You can come inside to listen. You don’t have to stand outside all by yourself.”

 

He was kissing her back…

 

 _God Almighty, I think I love her._ He jerked his head back, like he’d been scalded.

 

“What?” Her face fell. “What happened? Why are you upset?”

 

Ray stood. “I gotta go.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

She jumped off the couch, and ran around in front of him, put her hands on his shoulders. “Armando, what happened?”

 

“You…” _God, what do I say?_ “You went to Jackie behind my back.”

 

He turned his head away from the sudden terror in her eyes. He couldn’t look at her. _Why the hell did you say that, you piece of shit bastard? So, even if she is a spy – so what? So are you. It’s what you do._

She was hyperventilating. “Oh God,” she whispered. “You’re… you’re going to kill me.”

 

That shocked him back into the room.

 

“No. God no. I’d never hurt you.” _Except that, oh hell – I already did._

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry – it’s just – I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“It’s just, you never told me not to… not to… And you never said anything. I mean, when it happened with Jackie, you and me, I didn’t know what we were, so I didn’t know whether you’d care.”

 

“Hang on.” Ray’s heart stuttered. “I meant you talked to him behind my back. You’re saying you –”

 

She bit her lips so hard they disappeared.

 

“You fucked him.” Realisation rushed up on him, and the room went cold. “You’ve been fucking him.”

 

“Not since we’ve been together. Properly together I mean. Not since…” She gestured at the apartment. “Not till you seemed serious. And I mean – only once. And we, I mean, you and me, we weren’t even properly together. You were just fucking me in hotels. So, I thought – he told me – he said you didn’t care. He said you’d told everyone what a – what a good – what a whore I was, and that I might as well give him a ride for old time’s sake.”

 

“And you believed him?” Ray was dizzy, somewhere between fury and fright. His hands clenched, and he shoved them in his pockets. _Stop, God’s sake Vecchio, stop._ “You fucked him.”

 

Tears were running down her face and she turned her head away. “Only once. And I didn’t think you cared.”

 

“You bitch,” he blurted out. “Everyone knew you were my girl. I bought you out of Jackie’s stable, I put you up in hotels, rented you this apartment, took you round to see everyone in the music business… what’s he doing touching you? What the fuck were you thinking?”

 

“Yeah.” Her voice was thick with misery. “I guess I did know you’d care.”

 

Ray paused, put a fist to his chest, willing his heart to calm down. He hadn’t meant to shout. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 

“Why?” The word jerked out of her like a sob, then she really was crying. “I’m the one who did it.”

 

“I’m sorry you didn’t know –” _shut up Vecchio, you’ll only make this worse –_ “sorry I didn’t tell you that –”

 

“Tell me what, Armando?” Her voice was very quiet, and her face was very still.

 

“Tell you that I care.”

 

“You care?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Can you ever…” She closed her eyes, pulling such a wretched face that she was almost ugly. He couldn’t tell if she was acting. “You can’t forgive me,” she whispered. “You’ll never touch me now.”

 

 _Oh God. Such a fool for crying women, even if they are lying whores._ He should ask her when it started – had Jackie aimed her at him that first day but instead…

 

“Come here,” he said, desperately. He held his arms wide. “Come here, come here, stop it. Stop crying. Stop crying, sweetheart, please, don’t cry.”

 

He knew, he absolutely knew that he was the biggest idiot on the fucking planet – that she’d talked behind his back to the enemy, that she’d literally screwed him over, but…

 

_Oh God. I just can’t stop._

~*~

 

“Armando?”

 

He said nothing, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“Armando? Honey?”

 

“I thought you were ‘Honey,’” he said, as though they could ever joke around again.

 

“Nah. You’re the sweet one.”

 

“You know men don’t like being called sweet.”

 

“Yeah, you told me.” She chuckled low in her throat. “But it’s true.” Pause. “You know what? I wanna do it again.”

 

He closed his eyes. Opened them again. Shit. The dark. He didn’t want to be in the dark.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Her voice took on concern. “Why are you crying?”

 

 _Am I?_ He put his hand to his face. His skin was dry. _What’s she talking about? You can’t cry without tears._ “I’m not crying,” he corrected her. “I don’t cry.”

 

“Okay, Armando. You don’t cry.” She shifted, propped herself up on her elbow, and looked down at him. Her fingers were playing with his cross.

 

“Why do you always wear this?”

 

He rested his hand over hers, pushed so he could feel the metal press against his skin. Ma had been so proud of him that day.

 

“To remind me who I’m going to hell for.”

 

“You’re still angry,” Hannah whispered.

 

“No.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I… I shouldn’t have done that. We shouldn’t have just done that.”

 

“Didn’t you like it?”

 

“Yeah. It’s not that. It’s…”

 

“Is it… is it still your wife?”

 

He covered his face. _Let her think that. It’s just as well._ “So you can run off and tell Jackie how messed up I am?”

 

“No – and I never told him anything bad. Just that you loved your wife and kids. That’s not bad, is it?”

 

“You told him I talk to ghosts.”

 

“Well, he wasn’t surprised. He said you’ve done it since you were a kid.”

 

“Did I?”

 

“Is it interesting?” she sounded like little Tony asking to see his cop badge. She snuggled up to him – _playing the little girl again,_ he thought bitterly _._ “Seeing ghosts, I mean? Or does it just fuck with your head? ’Cause sometimes you sound awful cross with them.”

 

Ray turned his head and glared at her. “You’re gonna tell Jackie, aren’t you?”

 

“No,” she said, and her face became intent. “That was before you said you cared. You cried for me. You never said you cared before. He told me you didn’t care. Now I know you do. So, I won’t fuck him, or anyone else, and I won’t ever trust him again. He’s not my pimp – I don’t owe him anything anymore.”

 

“Is that why you let him do it?” The Bookman should know this kind of thing, but Ray couldn’t stop himself from asking. He was almost sure he knew, but he needed to know for sure. It would make a difference to what Hannah had done – if she’d thought Jackie was still her pimp and she had no choice. He wanted, he so wanted, to believe her. “Do all Jackie’s girls have to –?”

 

“Well, yeah, he’s the Boss.”

 

“He’s a prick,” Ray gritted out. “And you don’t owe him a thing.”

 

She started smoothing her hands across his chest, teasing the hair, and singing, low in her throat. Some Spanish thing he didn’t quite understand. Sounded like a lullaby. Where her hands touched him he felt – warm. He closed his eyes, and the darkness felt safe somehow.

 

Happy. He drifted for a while, then looked at her. Her makeup was all messy with sweat, and her hair was spiked up like a windswept thundercloud. The remaining highlights ran through the edges like golden threads of lightning. His face ached – oh God, he was smiling again. Why was he smiling? He rolled over on his side, facing her, and buried his head on the pillow. His shoulders were shaking.

 

She patted his back. “Armando,” she said, “it’ll be okay. I’ll get you a drink.”

 

“Please,” he mumbled. _Fuck, I’m such an idiot._

 

After a moment she padded back. “This one’s your medicine, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah.” The Feds had told him to try not to take it too near alcohol, but the Feds told him a lot of things. They could fuck themselves.

 

He gulped it back, not even pulling a face at the bourbon anymore.

 

“You want this?”

 

She had her pills in her hand.

 

“I’m taking some,” she encouraged him.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Poor bitch. He should be trying to stop her, to help her. He turned his head away.

 

“Well, you know where they are if you change your mind,” she said, and kissed him.

 

He held his hand out. She smiled, reassured, and dropped the little white pills onto the scar in his palm. He didn’t even know what these ones were. For all he knew, he was taking an overdose.

 

“You know you’ll feel better.”

 

His glass was empty, so he swallowed them dry. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll feel better soon.”

 

 

**_Friday 1 st August. 10.30 am_ **

“Okay.” Johnny sat and fiddled with his jacket. “I’m miked up,” he said, “so we can start the interview now. Ready?”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Ray glanced around the deserted coach car. He still couldn’t get over the fact that the Feds had set it up. It wasn’t the most extreme thing they’d done, but somehow it got to him the most – such a normal place to eat, and it was bugged to high heaven. Ray had even got Sal out here a couple of times to talk business over a nice juicy steak, right where the Feds could hear them, and the brothers had taken to meeting the Irish and Polacks out here. “You know, this is the rattiest diner in the US, but someone’s bound to notice something one day.”

 

“It’s our ratty diner,” Johnny smirked. “No-one’s gonna notice a thing.”

 

“I still can’t believe you set this up in the middle of the Nevada desert so I could meet up with you and what… eat junk food?”

 

“Why not? You must be getting sick of all that _haute cuisine._ Besides, I thought it was time we bought you a meal.”

 

Ray stared at the tray in front of him. “You call this a meal,” he said, though he was practically drooling. French fries loaded with cheese, a big fat burger… All that was missing was Dief, for him to drop scraps to when Benny wasn’t looking.

 

Johnny smiled. He glanced at his watch and started his spiel. “Interview commencing at…” Absently he licked ketchup from his fingers, and leant his elbows on the formica table top. Ray looked away from the tray of food in front of him, and stared out the window. _All I seem to do since I got to Vegas is eat,_ he thought, _or watch other people eating. Why can’t I ever have a meeting some place original, like a bowling alley or a skating rink?_ “So,” Johnny asked, “What’s happened since we last met?”

 

 _Hannah fucked Jackie,_ Ray thought, out of the blue, and flushed. He wasn’t going to tell them that, even though they had to know. They were more interested in the business dealings.

 

“Muldoon’s still not biting. We’ve got buyers lined up from here to China, but apparently he thinks we’re amateurs because of some problem we had with the East Germans a while back.” He paused. He couldn’t believe how casually he’d said that, how easily he said ‘we,’ when referring to the Iguanas. He took a swig of coke to cover it, as he tried to recover his equilibrium. “I don’t know what the problem was. Jackie pissed someone off, I know that much, but it’d help me bullshit some if you’d let me know what you got.”

 

“Okay. We’ll get what we can together, and Amelia will coach you on it tonight at the hotel, in case it comes up.”

 

“Right. And then, we’re still having trouble with border control, getting the weapons physically out of Russia. Jackie seemed to think the Japanese might have some contacts, but I told him, they’re only really good for drugs. I know they’re looking to branch out, but this is too ambitious for them.” He paused. “Honestly, I think it’s too ambitious for us. And –” he shook his head. “It’s not like I can ask them, but I can’t for the fucking life of me figure out why the brothers even want to do it.”

 

“They want to make money.”

 

“Yeah but – why not legally? They’re clever enough. And I mean, even Jackie seems like a human being at times. And Sal –” Ray shook his head, honestly bewildered. “You should see him with his kids. I don’t get how he can be into all this. Prostitution, when he’s got daughters he adores, weapons that – hell, they’re gonna blow up other people’s children. I don’t know how he turns a blind eye to it.”

 

“Sociopaths can be very charming.”

 

“You’re saying he’s a sociopath?”

 

Johnny scratched the back of his neck, and made a huff noise. “I don’t know. Probably. I’m not a psychiatrist. I have no idea how their minds work. I do know Sal loves his family, including you, and I know you shouldn’t trust him as far as you’d throw him.”

 

“I don’t.” Ray sighed. “He’s told me to my face if I fuck up he’s going to have me killed. Believe me, I’m gonna be real careful around him. And Jackie. You know…” he flushed again. Johnny had warned him about Hannah. “She, er…”

 

“She?”

_Fuck, why did I start this?_ Ray looked at his burger, and wondered if he should try to eat it. His stomach was sour again. “There’s something else. Uhm…” Shit. This wasn’t going to be fun to say, even though they did already know. “I’m sorry but…” He looked out the diner’s window at the broad vista. Cars and trucks were going past. He could feel them rattle through the floor of the trailer. “You were right what you guessed about Hannah. She talked to Jackie.” It was easier to say that than ‘Hannah screwed me over, and maybe I’m a fool, maybe she’s still screwing my cousin.’

 

“I’m sorry.” Johnny looked frustrated. “They never told me who it was.” He cleared his throat. “You know this thing with Honey –”

 

“Hannah,” Ray corrected automatically. Johnny winced.

 

“Okay. This thing with Hannah – I know it helped your cover at first, but –” Johnny jerked his thumb at the ceiling to indicate the higher ups, “they don’t think it’s a good idea anymore.”

 

“Well, _‘they’_ can go fuck themselves.” Ray smiled at the waitress over by the till. For all he knew, she was Johnny’s boss.

 

Johnny covered his mouth for a second, as though stifling a grin at Ray’s insolence, then looked serious again. “Look, Ray – from where you’re standing it probably seems Hannah’s been good for you in some ways. She gave you space. But – ”

 

 _Oh great, not Johnny too._ “But what?”

 

“But, well – she’s talked to Jackie, and there’s the drug thing.”

 

Ray turned his face, looked out the window. He wondered how much they knew about the drug thing… Johnny was still talking. “I know you’re functioning, you’re not escalating. Your blood results came back – well, not good but okay. But you’re always worse after you see her. And, they don’t trust her, because of that. Besides which, she’s working for Jackie.”

 

“That was just her contract. She couldn’t help that. And now she’s out.”

 

“She…” Johnny sounded uncomfortable, and Ray looked back at him. The man was scratching his head, and staring at his half eaten burger.

 

“What?”

 

“Come on, Ray.” Johnny went bright red, looked for a moment like he was going to lose his temper. Ray stared. That had never happened before. “She’s a drug addicted prostitute working for a Mafia boss. What are you thinking?” Johnny stopped talking, and stared at his lunch, like he was counting the french-fries.

 

“Well, that’s fine, isn’t it? I’m a drug addicted Mafia boss, so who gives a flying fuck what I do?”

 

“You’re a policeman.”

 

“Yeah, right. You don’t wanna hear it, but you can’t bullshit me, Johnny.” Ray knew he was pushing it, but he was angry, wanted to make Johnny angry too – “You know the day and hour I stopped being a policeman.”

 

Johnny lifted his head and stared at him levelly. “Are you in love with her, Ray?”

 

“Am I…” _What?_ “We don’t even sleep together,” he lied, idiotically. Of course, they’d know the truth.

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

“No,” Ray blustered. “No, I’m not in love.” He shook his head, suddenly furious. _God’s sake – these people. Who the hell do they think they are?_ How many of them were tracking his movements, speculating about his motives, listening in on it while he slept in Hannah’s bed?

 

“Well, it does sort of look that way.” Johnny sighed, and dropped his voice, as though he could somehow keep this conversation private. “I’m sorry, Ray. You told me once that you were drowning. They think – well, so do I – that you’re hanging onto Hannah to keep yourself from going under.”

 

“I…” What the hell could he say? “No.”

 

“And I know you’re seeing Rossetti regularly, but the brothers worry about how ‘serious’ you and Hannah seem.” Johnny continued, implacably. “You’re going to have to be more casual in your relationships, see other women too…”

 

“I don’t want to see some Vegas whore,” Ray snapped.

 

“Well, technically that is what you’re doing. You saw Hannah last night, didn’t you?”

 

_Ray’s hand was on Jackie’s windpipe and squeezing and…_

 

“Oh, shit. Shit, shit.” He was kneeling on the table, and Johnny was choking in his hand. Ray let go, slid off the table with a thump; stumbled. Food and plates clattered to the floor. “Oh, shit…” He backed away, appalled. The broken crockery crunched under his shoes. He blinked, and realised that three men had entered the room – _God’s sake, is that a Taser?_ Johnny was clutching his throat with one hand, had the other hand up in a ‘stop’ gesture, holding the Feds at bay. _Fuck, I’m surrounded._ “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that,” he stuttered. “I didn’t mean to. I… I forgot who you were.” _Oh God help me, I forgot who I was…_ “You shouldn’t have called her a whore.”

 

“I didn’t use the word, but I know what you mean.” Johnny shifted in his seat, and coughed, rubbed his neck. He turned to the men looming by the table, made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Reluctantly the men took a step back. Johnny darted them an angry look. “Go on, get outta here,” he snapped. His accent slipped, and Ray finally placed it. Iowa. “We’re all good.”

 

Ray sat back in his chair, and stared down at his clothes. He’d got ketchup, and burger juice, and coke all over the knees of his trousers.

 

Johnny turned back to him. “Ray, are you alright?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is there anything we can do?”

 

“You can get Hannah out for me.” He’d been working up to asking them this for weeks. Part of him had been dreading it, because he needed to know he could see her, but he also knew that the one thing he wanted, more than anything else, was for Hannah to be safe and happy. “You can help her get clean, get her a job somewhere –”

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Ray.” It didn’t sound like Johnny cursing at all, it just slipped out of his mouth so naturally, and with such pity. “You know we can’t do that.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ray leant his head on his hand to cover his face.

 

“She doesn’t want to get clean. She doesn’t want another life. If you told her to change, she wouldn’t understand why you wanted it.”

 

“She doesn’t want to be a whore,” Ray said.

 

“I know.” Johnny reached out, and patted Ray’s free hand.  “She’s ambitious. She wants to be the Bookman’s wife.”

 

Ray looked up at Johnny, and forgot that his face was wet, that the other man could see.

 

“She wants… what?”

 

“You say you’re not in love with her, but what if she’s in love with you?”

 

 _Oh, God._ Ray wiped his face. _I shoulda known that. I shoulda seen it._

 

“What the hell am I gonna do?”

 

“You’re going to have to stop seeing her.”

 

“I…” _Holy God, they’re right. I am in love with her._ “I can’t not see her.”

 

“Okay,” Johnny said, and withdrew his hand. “We thought you might say that. Just…”

 

“What?”

 

Johnny shook his head. “Think of her. You don’t want her anywhere near the Iguanas. Anyone trying to hurt you is going to try for Agent Rossetti or Hannah. Agent Rossetti can look after herself, but –”

 

“Sarah couldn’t look after herself.”

 

“She could. She was just unlucky.

 

“Unlucky? She’s fucking dead.”

 

“Ray – Listen to me, Ray. Listen.”

 

“Okay,” Ray muttered, dropping his gaze to a puddle of cola. “Go on.”

 

“You need to back off from Hannah. For her sake. And you need to let everyone know she’s been dumped.”

 

“You fuckers.”

 

“It’s the best way to protect her. Stop seeing her.”

 

Ray covered his ears. He was shaking. “Shut up,” he whispered.

 

To his left he heard the waitress – FBI agent – approaching. He opened his eyes, and she was putting a cup of coffee in front of him.

 

“Thanks,” he muttered. “Sorry,” he said to Johnny, and clutched the cup between his hands.

 

“Hannah’s a human being,” Johnny said with relentless compassion, “and you don’t want her to get hurt.”

 

“No,” Ray said, blankly. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

 

“So, you’ve got to stop seeing her.”

 

_I’ve got to let her go._

 

“Okay.”

 

 

**_Date: 9:27pm_ **

 

“Oh God,” Jackie was comfortably drunk, and puffing on a big cigar. “Your castoff whore’s coming over.”

 

Ray looked up from his drink, and saw her at a distance, Hannah, determinedly weaving her way toward him through the tables of the strip club. She was wearing the golden slinky dress that Ray had picked out for her to go to the opera with him. She’d had her hair done, smoothed and straightened. It made her look older, less beautiful, but she was still being gazed at appreciatively by other men. Ray caught one of the other dancers smirking as she walked past, and knew the kind of mockery Hannah had been enduring in the fifteen days since the ‘breakup.’ He’d closed her accounts, though he was still paying rent on her apartment. He couldn’t bear to put her on the street.

 

The first time he’d seen her, he’d been drunker than he was now and she had looked like a goddess with a terrible smile, some kind of beautiful _strega_ come to punish him. This time she was not smiling, and her real face was showing. _Stupid, Hannah, never show them your real face._ She was little-girl terrified, despite her clothes and makeup. Her heavily lashed eyes were flicking in Jackie’s direction, and back to Ray. Fear and hope, and desperation. _Oh God._ Ray felt a tug in his chest. Fish on a hook might feel like this… _God, I’m maudlin._ He poured himself another.

 

“Just what we need,” Sal groaned, “that bitch to cause a scene.” They were waiting to talk one of Muldoon’s ‘emissaries.’ Finally. Hannah had chosen the very worst moment to make an appearance.

 

Ray sighed, knocked back his drink, and stood. “Don’t worry,” he told his cousins. “I’ll get her out of here.”

 

“Whatever,” Jackie shrugged, watching the naked dancers. “You’ll have to farm her out to someone else, or she’ll always be causing scenes. It’s not like she can go back to this –” he gesticulated at the hookers. “You’ve ruined her.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Last time I fucked her, she was fucking useless. Couldn’t even get her to pretend to come. All mooney about ‘Armando.’”

 

“Last time you what?” Ray turned and glared at Jackie. Bad enough the fucker had done it, but now he was bragging about cuckolding Armando in public. Ray felt himself go white.

 

“Few months back. Didn’t think you’d mind. I mean, she’s just a whore. It’s not like she was your _goomah_ or anything.”

 

Sal’s jaw dropped. “Jackie, you sick fuck. He was keeping her. Everyone knew she was his girl.”

 

“What? She’s a prostitute, she’s gonna fuck other men. Why not me?”

 

 _“_ _Che casino_ _!_ No wonder Mando’s been off his game. You know about this, Mando?”

 

Ray said nothing.

 

“Mando,” Sal’s voice was gravel. “I asked a question.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said. “Yeah.” He set his face in a bitter smile, and leant toward Jackie, just to put in a sting. “You’re not the only one she tells tales to,” he lied without thinking. There was a flash of fear in Jackie’s eyes, and Ray straightened up. Hannah had made her way to their table. “I’ll not be long,” Ray told Sal.

 

“No, it’s okay. You two got a lot to talk about.” Sal glared at Jackie. “And I got a lot to talk to my _capo bastone_ about. Matters of discipline, amongst the rank and file.”

 

Ray managed not to smile. Jackie had stepped out of line, and Sal was going to tear him a new one. Mind you –

 

“I’ll miss the meeting with the guy.”

 

“The guy?”

 

“Yeah, the guy.”

 

“Try to get back in time. If you can’t, I’ll fill you in on it.” Sal gave Hannah an unreadable look. “Honey.”

 

“Sal.”

 

“ _Prendi cura di questo, Mando_.” Sal said in smooth tones. “ _Non voglio che i due di voi di andare botte da orbi._ ”

 

Ray flushed, and caught Jackie’s angry glare.

 

“Yes, Boss,” he bit out, then took Hannah by the arm, and steered her from the room.

 

She waited till they were out of the club and on the street before saying anything. “Armando,” she sounded bunged up, as though she’d been crying a lot, or doing more coke than she should. Her eyes were puffed up. “What did I do?”

 

Ray felt his hand tighten on her bicep _– shit, I’m gonna bruise her –_ and let go. Now that he was standing outside he realised that he was actually quite drunk.

 

“What did you _do?”_ His voice was most un-Bookman, so he dropped it into a growl. “What did you do?” He had to say something to get rid of her. What could he say? He wanted to grab her by the hand and run. He had the money – they could run from the Feds and the Mob, go to South America or something, change their names… “You just embarrassed me in front of Sal, right before a business meeting – and now I’m out of the meeting because I have to babysit you. How high are you?”

 

Astonishingly, she started giggling.

 

“Hannah, seriously, how fucking high are you?”

 

“Sorry, sorry. I just – I was scared and I had to see you.”

                                              

“Well, you’re not seeing me again.”

 

“Because of me and Jackie?”

 

“No.” He couldn’t let her walk around thinking it was her fault. “Because…” Fuck it. He was going to tell her the truth. Not all the truth, but some of it. “Because someone’s trying to hurt me. And last time someone tried to hurt me everyone ended up dead. I don’t want them coming at me through you.”

 

“You’re trying to protect me?” Her voice wobbled with hope.

 

“I’m going to protect you, whether you want me to or not. Here – come with me.”

 

Okay, so the Feds weren’t going to get her out, but he would.

 

His office, in darkness, looked like a hollow cave. He didn’t put the top light on. The lights of Vegas streamed through the windows and painted the dim room in mockery of stained glass. Hannah stood nervously in the doorway looking around her, while he opened the safe.

 

 _‘That’s my money,’_ Armando said.

 

“You can’t take it with you,” Ray answered, tipping open his suitcase and dropping the contents on the floor. “It’s my money now,” he added, as he slapped notes into the case. “I can do what the fuck I like.”

 

_‘I earned it for my family, not for you to give some cooze of a stripper.’_

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up and stay dead? You don’t hear Onofri complaining.”

 

“Oh God,” Hannah’s voice, little in the big room. “It’s not your family you talk to at all, is it? It’s people you killed.”

 

Ray said nothing, and turned to face her. She flinched. “I’m sorry,” he said.

 

“You did, didn’t you? You killed Onofri? And…”

 

“What are you? Miked up?” Even if he wanted to confess, he fucking couldn’t. “Here. This is for you.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“What does it look like? Money. You get yourself out of Vegas. Go back to your grandmother. If she’s half the woman you told me she is, and if she believes half those hymns she taught you, she’s probably been looking out her living room window every day waiting for you to come home.”

 

“But I – but you –”

 

“Just go home. Eat some fatted calf. Make your grandma the happiest woman on earth. Get yourself in rehab, get clean. Teach little kids piano, and how to dance. Meet some nice guy who doesn’t knock you around, or turn a blind eye when you shove crap up your nose.”

 

“But…” her voice trailed off, and he almost didn’t hear it. “I love you.”

 

“Well, I love you, you stupid bitch.” His voice caught in his throat. “I love you, okay? So do what I tell you to, and go. Before some bastard kills you.” He looked at his briefcase, and realised how tawdry it all was. “Look, I’ll send one of my bodyguards with you. You get back to the apartment, pack, I’ll make your flight arrangements. They’ll take you by limo and put you on my plane.” He thrust a bank card at her. “You can use this for your expenses until you open an account for the…” He stared at the briefcase again. _God, I’m paying her off like she’s nothing but a whore._ He heard himself start to babble. “Once you get home, don’t… I mean. And –”

 

She was weeping. _Stop that –_ he managed not to shout it at her. Instead, he gathered up his scattered papers, tossed them into the safe, and slammed the door shut. Automatically it reset itself. _Clunk, click, clack._ Her crying jag was getting worse – big heaving sobs juddered through her frame; her shoulders shuddered. _I did that to her. I do nothing but hurt her._

 

“Armando?”

 

Ray leant his head against the steel and chrome of the safe, and breathed steadily.

 

“Hannah,” he said, “they’re coming after me. I can’t protect you. Go home.” He turned, walked rapidly toward her, grabbed her by the arm, and pushed her through the door. “Marco,” he said to the bodyguard on duty, “I want you to see Ms Morison home, help her pack, and bring her to Henderson’s. Put her on the plane, and tell the pilot they’re going to New York.”

 

He looked at Hannah. Her head was bowed in shame. He clenched his hands behind his back, and didn’t stroke her hair.

 

“Go on then. Leave.”

 

**10:13 pm**

He made it back to the meeting just after Muldoon’s emissary arrived. Sal gave him a sharp look, then nodded, apparently satisfied that Ray hadn’t just been doing drugs in the men’s room. _Okay, so I’m someway passed drunk, but I can carry that these days._ Ray sat at the table, and smiled, offered his hand. ‘Johnson’ (if that was his name) shook it, and like most people covertly snuck a peek to see the scar. _Yeah, it really is me. I really am the Bookman._

Sal made a gesture with his head, and Jackie stood. “You’ve met us all now,” Sal told Johnson, “but I’m afraid my Captain here has to deal with other matters. I’m sure you understand.”

 

“Certainly.” Johnson was a cheerful looking man – florid faced with a grey beard like an oversized garden gnome. He didn’t look like a gun runner, or weapons’ dealer – he looked like he should be up a hill somewhere, counting sheep. “My client just wanted me to make contact at this time, and now I can tell him that I’ve met you all.” He lifted a hand in salutation as Jackie nodded and walked off. Ray watched him go. Sal had probably banished him, for the sake of peace.

 

Ray relaxed, and turned back to Johnson. Sal nodded, indicating that Ray could start negotiations.

 

“So. Your ‘client.’ He’s aware of what an opportunity we’re offering him, to be in on this operation?”

 

“Yes.” Johnson moved forward, “and he’s aware that you’ve had trouble getting across customs. That bothers him.”

 

“It shouldn’t. That’s what he’s for.”

 

“Quite.” The old man’s voice was much less cheerful now. “And frankly he’s not impressed with the percentages that you’ve been offering him.”

 

Ray looked at Sal, who lifted one eyebrow slightly. That was pretty much as they’d expected.

 

“What does he suggest?”

 

“Eighty percent in his favour.”

 

Ray and Sal stood simultaneously. Sal extended a handshake. “It’s been nice doing business with you,” he smiled. “Tell your associate that I’m sure he’ll find equally lucrative opportunities elsewhere.”

 

Johnson got to his feet, flustered – “excuse me,” he called after them. They ignored him as they walked out the door.

 

“You sure that was the right thing to do, Mando?” Sal was looking less confident by the time they got to their limos.

 

“It had better be –” The Feds had looked at Muldoon’s psychological profile, and run various scenarios through their probability guys. They had predicted an insulting offer, and were convinced that this was the best response. Ray smiled. “I’m staking my life on it, after all.”

 

“Well,” Sal said, and slung his arm around Ray’s shoulder. “At least your reputation.” He cleared his throat. “So, you sorted things out with Honey?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said, and stared at his feet. “Yeah, she’s leaving town.”

 

Sal looked at him, curiously.  “You really liked her, didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Just as well she was a _moulignon_ then, or you’d a slapped a ring on her finger.”

 

Ray smiled as Sal laughed. “No,” he admitted, though in his wildest daydreams he’d thought of it – eloping to some place nobody could ever find them. Some place with a lot of water – an ocean perhaps to wash them clean. “I was never gonna marry her.”

 

**_Sunday, 17 th August: 6:23 am_ **

****

Ray woke to the sound of Nero protesting, and the unmistakeable voice of Detective Burns. “We have a warrant for the arrest of Armando Langoustini. We have permission to search these premises, and…”

 

Ray rolled, and fell off the couch. A warrant to what? 

 

“What the fuck is going on?” he said, as he made it out of the door of the rec room. “Haven’t you bastards done enough already? What now?”

 

“Mr Langoustini. You are wanted for questioning in the death of Hannah Morison. We have permission to…”

 

_Hannah?_

 

Ray’s knees went out from under him, and he fell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Che casino! - What a fuck up! (Literally and crudely, 'what a whore house.')
> 
> Prendi cura di questo - Sort this out/Take care of this.
> 
> Non voglio che i due di voi di andare botte da orbi - I don't want you two fighting like cats and dogs.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Date Unknown_   
**

_“Wake up…Stay with me." The woman is slapping his face, but her voice is surprisingly gentle. "I know what you need.”_

_He says nothing._

_"You must be hurting by now,” she coos sympathetically._

_“I am hurting,” he admits, and immediately hates himself for it._

_“I have something to take the edge off. Just take one.”_

_“No.” If he takes one of whatever it is, he’ll start blabbing, he knows it. “No," he says again and swallows, offers an explanation. "It’s just my ulcer.”_

_“It’s not your ulcer.” Her voice is still a low purr, but there's an unmistakable edge to it now._

_And he realizes he understands - but what? The drugs, his ulcer - a connection, once tenuous, is now concrete. The pieces fit, but he can't see through the fog in his brain._

_“Maybe it’s time,” he says wearily, “to just stop. If you're gonna kill me, then do it. I got nothing to say.”_

 

**_Sunday, 17 th August: 6:32 am_ **

 *

By the time he pulled himself back together it was too late to for posturing and threatening. The cops swarmed in, crime scene technicians all over the place – the entire damn op was up in smoke. He was a murder suspect, and they had a warrant. They would search the house. They were investigating Hannah’s death, they would search her apartment _. Shit._ Were the Feds listening to this? They had to be; they were always listening. Were they scrambling for an exit strategy? Planning to cut him loose?

 

_Shit._

 

He insisted on a phone call, and dialled the emergency number. Johnny picked up.

 

“Listen,” he said, curtly. “I need a lawyer, I need one now, and I don’t want that prick Pender.”

 

“Okay,” Johnny caught on quickly. “They’ve just told me something’s going down but I don’t have all the details. What’s happening?”

 

“I’m being pulled in to help with the investigation into the death of Hannah.” His voice cracked. “She was getting out, and somebody murdered her.”

 

“Okay, our legal team are on it, and I’ll meet you the minute you get to the station.”

 

But they didn’t bring him to the station first. They brought him to Hannah’s apartment.

 

 _Yeah, great strategy,_ Ray thought, nausea clawing at his throat. _They’re trying to shock me, trip me up somehow._ It was a dirty trick, but not illegal – he’d done it himself. Confront the criminal with evidence of their crime and shock them into giving something away. _Oh God, I’m gonna see Hannah._

 

“Okay,” Detective Burns said as he led him from the car. This time they hadn’t cuffed him, but the man put a proprietorial hand on his shoulder and steered him to the elevator. Ray was too freaked out to play Armando and shrug the hand off. And there Mando was, shooting a look of contempt at Ray’s weakness. “When were you last here?” Burns’ voice pulled Ray’s attention away from his brother’s disdain, and back to the reality of the situation. _Shit, someone’s killed Hannah…_

 

“Last night.”

 

“About what time?”

 

“Nine-thirty, maybe, ten o' clock.”

 

“You kept her apartment close to your office. Any reason for that?”

 

“So it wasn’t a long ride home from work, what do you think?” Ray blustered as they rode up in the elevator. So far everything was looking very normal. If he talked shit, then maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was a fuck up.

 

 _Maybe,_ he thought with sudden hope, _they got the wrong girl_ – Clara looked enough like Hannah that whoever killed her mighta made a mistake. Well, no, Clara was white, but they were the same size and shape, sort of. And if they’d got Clara, that would be sad – but it wouldn’t be Hannah.

 

It _couldn’t_ be Hannah – not after Irene, not after Sarah – it just couldn’t happen again. They got the wrong girl.

 

They got the right girl.

 

Hannah was in the sunken bathtub, still in her golden dress, her whole body submerged. Her recently straightened hair curled slightly now, floated out like seaweed. Her arms were straight along her side, palms upward. Her gown swayed softly in the rosy water.

 

“Oh God, no,” Ray whispered.

 

The blood bloomed dark around her wrists, still slowly unfurling from the sharp edged, straight lined cuts that sliced her wrists neatly. Her face was slack, as though her skin was already slipping.

 

“At first it looked like a suicide,” Burns was saying, “but the ME noticed a few inconsistencies –”

 

“Oh God, no.”

 

“Mr Langoustini…”

 

Ray lurched forward, and then he was in the bathtub with her, kneeling, trying to lift her out. “Oh God, no, no, no.” She was slippery in his arms, and her dead weight kept falling from his grasp, kept drowning. Angry voices around him _– I contaminated the crime scene,_ he realised distantly, as he struggled against the cops dragging him away. “Hannah,” she slid from his arms. “Hannah, Hannah baby, please, wake up.”

 

She didn’t wake up.

 

**10:45 am**

By the time they’d got him to the station he’d retreated, and wasn’t taking in a word that anyone was saying. That is, he could hear them, but it didn’t seem to matter very much. His mouth tasted of bile, and his fingertips were black again from being printed. He stood without complaining as they bound his wrists behind his back – this time in cuffs, rather than ties. Obviously they were keen to avoid another lawsuit.

 

Once in interview room three, however, Burns was as harsh as ever in his questioning. It was like they’d never left.

 

“… a pattern of abuse seems to be emerging. After all, Hannah wouldn’t be the first of your lovers who has died in mysterious circumstances. If we go back, do you think we’ll find anyone other than Sarah? What about your wife? Did she really kill herself?”

 

Ray stared at the mirror. He thought he’d looked bad last time. This time he was in a tee-shirt and sweatpants. _They arrested the wrong guy,_ he thought, _that guy looks nothing like the Bookman at all._

“Mr Langoustini,” Burns shouted. He slapped the table, and Ray turned to look at the man’s hand. He felt as though he’d never left this room, as though he was on a wheel, and had just returned to the starting point. _Hell’s like this,_ he thought, and the thought itself was familiar, _you gotta relive the same crap over, and over again._ “Answer the question,” Burns said.

 

Ray frowned, confused. _What question?_ Maybe if he could figure out the right thing to say he’d eventually get out of this nightmare.

“So,” Burns circled the room. “What happens? You meet some nice girl, pick her up – maybe even marry her. Treat her like a princess, put her up in an apartment. And then when you’re tired of her, what – you kill her? Or are you going to tell me that we’re wrong, that Hannah did commit suicide?”

 

The cop in Ray woke up at the question.

 

“Hannah didn’t commit suicide,” he croaked out.

 

Burns froze in his circuit of the room, and stared at him intently. “No? Then what did happen?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ray admitted, “but someone killed her.” He shook his head. “Not a professional though. I mean, someone who’s killed before - they were confident - but not someone who specialises in that kinda cover up. Too sloppy. Left too many tells.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Burns sat casually on the table. “What kind of ‘tells’ are we talking about?”

 

Ray grimaced, trying to picture the crime scene without emotion clouding his judgement. He squinted his eyes, and replayed it, standing outside his body now, so he could watch without pain.

 

“When I lifted her,” he said staring into space, “she should have spewed water. She bubbled instead. There were bubbles when she came up out of the water. There was air in her lungs. So… she didn’t drown.”

 

“Maybe she died of blood loss before she went under the water.”

 

“No,” Ray shook his head. “That’s not what happens. They pass out, then they go under – they’re still breathing and their lungs fill up.”

 

“You seem to know a lot about death, Mr Langoustini. Is this something you’ve done before?”

 

“I’ve seen it,” Ray said, thinking of his first suicide, a pregnant fourteen year old. He’d been sick that time too, rookie cop.

 

Armando flashed back into the room.

 

“Where were you?” Thoughtlessly, Ray spoke aloud.

 

 _‘I’ve seen it before,_ ’ Armando echoed his words, and Ray had a sudden vivid memory of a middle aged woman, _Juliana Langoustini, God, his Ma…_ in a long night dress, floating peacefully in the family pool, wrists split. His heart stuttered – the  woman looked nothing like Hannah but…

 

_Hair like seaweed, salt and pepper, obscuring her face, and a kid sobbing._

 

“Sorry, Mando.”

_‘Why?’ The voice in his head was bitter. ‘It was a long time ago.’_

 

Ray opened his mouth to say something else to his brother – then he remembered where he was. Who he was talking to, who _he_ was. _Not a cop anymore._ He shouldn’t be discussing crime scenes so casually when he was a suspect. He glanced sharply up at the Detective interviewing him. The man obviously didn’t know anything about Ma Langoustini – neither had Ray or the Feds. The Family must have covered it up. Doc Simmons would have faked the death certificate. Ray managed his first Bookman smile of the day. “In books, I’ve seen it in books. I read a lot. Unless you think your forensic examiners are suspects too.”

 

“Okay then.” Burns was giving him a curious look. “So, you’re a forensic expert. You mentioned ‘tells’. What other ‘tells’ did you see?”

 

“No hesitation marks,” Ray said, and pointed to his inside wrist, drawing a line up to his elbow. “People are scared of pain. Even if you’re trying to kill yourself, there’s that little bit of you that wants to live. So, the first few cuts are always shallow, while they’re getting their courage up. She just had four cuts.” He swallowed, picturing the inverted T’s. “And, they should have been weaker on one side than the other. Once she’d done the first arm, she wouldn’t be strong enough to cut as deep on the other. These were done by someone else.”

 

“Interesting speculations. Anything else come to mind?”

 

“When I saw her, she was coked up. She wouldn’t have been sleepy…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe she took something to calm herself down. If she took a downer, she could have been unconscious or something, so it would have been easy for whoever it was…”

 

_‘Don’t you fucking dare.’_

Ray saw his face go pale in the mirror, pale as his brother’s ghost. Armando leaned in and hissed in his ear. _‘Don’t you say another fucking word.’_

 

He knew who it was – _How stupid am I?_ Jackie had left the meeting just as Ray arrived. Ray had sent Hannah home with a bodyguard, one of the _soldati_ – and everyone in the organisation, every bodyguard, chauffeur, _soldato, capo_ – they all answered to Jackie.

 

“What?” Detective Burns leaned toward Ray with every semblance of concern. Ray shook his head, and shut his mouth. He’d forgotten, for a while, that he was the bad guy here. _‘Don’t worry, Mando,’_ he told his brother. _‘I won’t tell them a thing.’_

“I want my lawyer,” Ray bit off. _Where the fuck is Johnny?_

But for some reason it was Pender, not Johnny, who came.

 

**_Sunday, 17 th August: 9:43 am_ **

Jackie was waiting for him this time, at the back of the police station. _I should want to kill him,_ Ray thought. _He killed Hannah, staged it the worst way possible to crack Mando up. He posed her in the water, same posture even as Ma Langoustini, palms up and to the side. I should want to kill this fucker…_ He didn’t want to do anything. He just wanted to lie down. He started trudging toward his cousin. Where was Mando anyway?

 

“Fuck,” Jackie said, “they could have at least let you change your clothes.”

 

“What?”

 

“You in that tee-shirt. You look like a _fanook,”_ he laughed. “Your shirt’s pink.”

 

Ray looked down. It was still damp from the bathtub, and pink from Hannah’s blood.

 

“Oh. Yeah.”

 

“Oh. Yeah.” Jackie’s voice was loaded with sarcasm. “Whadaya think, Val? Another lawsuit?”

 

“Inevitably.” The lawyer sounded quietly pleased by the prospect.

 

“So,” Jackie said, “I’ll get this sorry bastard home, and see you at the fundraiser tonight.” He lifted his hand in a casual farewell, and Pender nodded – one of his micro-bows – as he took his leave. _Probably to report to Sal_.

 

Jackie turned his attention back to Ray. “Think you’ll be straightened out for the fundraiser?”

 

“Another fundraiser.” Ray paused. “How much of it gets to the disaster victims?” He knew, actually – something like five percent.

 

“Don’t worry about that. We got to get you straightened out for it though. I never seen you look so fucked, and that’s saying something. Shit, you had it bad for the whore, didn’t you?”

 

“She killed herself,” Ray lied.

 

“Yeah. Hookers do that.”

 

Ray stared at his cousin, looking to see if there was a flicker of anything – remorse, shame.

 

“Look,” Jackie said, with irritation, “She’s not your Ma, so don’t start up with that shit again. Fuck. Sal’s gonna be pissed if he sees you like this. Come on. Let’s get you straightened out.”

 

Jackie put his arm round Ray’s shoulders, and steered him to his Lexus. Obviously Jackie was less worried about keeping a low profile than Sal – he was mainly concerned with his seats. “You coulda fucking told me you needed a change of clothes.”

 

Ray said nothing, looking out the window as they drove to Jackie’s place. He let himself zone out. Jackie’s voice kept on in the background.

 

“So, Cuz,” Jackie said, as they pulled through the gates into his compound. He turned in the driver’s seat, and looked Ray square in the eye. “Did you do it? Because if you did, you can stop the performance now. The cops aren’t coming after you for this one.”

 

 _Holy shit._ How far was Jackie prepared to go in his pretence? “Did I… did I do it?” _How can he ask that?_

 

“Oh, shit.” Jackie rolled his eyes. “ _Cazzo cagna_ really did kill herself.” He slammed his way out of the car, turned and kicked the front wheel. “I thought it was just you being creative.”

 

“No,” Ray said, in dull tones, getting out the passenger side. _Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it wasn’t Jackie after all._ “I thought it might be you.”

 

“No,” Jackie said, leading him into the house. “Wish I’d thought of it, but no. Like I’d have left all that money in a suitcase for the cops to hold as evidence. Come on, snap out of it. You’re not gonna pull that shit like when you were a kid, walking around talking to invisible people are you?”

 

“What?” Jackie’s drive was gravelled, rather than paved like Armando’s. With each step Ray felt the crunch shudder up through him. _Giant,_ he thought, dizzily, _sounds like a giant grinding its teeth._

 

“Like when your Ma died. Fucking hell, you’re a head-case. You don’t pull yourself together, we’ll have to get rid of you.” Jackie raised his hands in the air. “I don’t mean whack you. Sal might say he’ll do it, but he’d never follow through. But you got to pull yourself together.”

 

“I do it every day,” Ray managed. “I’m a pair of curtains.”

 

Jackie looked puzzled for a moment, then started laughing. “That’s a good one, Cuz. That’s good. Look, you got the cops off your back with the grieving boyfriend thing, and every hooker in Vegas is going to be hot for you after that performance. You know how whores love a tragic hero. Story like that gets around. But tone it down for the fundraiser, okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Plus we got this Muldoon shit going on. You and Sal walking out of the meet like that. You got balls where your brains should be. You need to fix that, that’s all I’m saying. You wanna retire after Muldoon, fine. Just be our accountant if that’s what floats your boat. But right now, hold it together, just a little longer. You can do that, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah. Sal’s gonna be here in an hour. So go, get cleaned, get changed, we’ll try to figure out the Muldoon crap, and then you take the day to do what you do, research, number crunch, whatever. And get ready to schmooze up to politicians and judges and movie stars this evening, make us a lot of fucking money, and don’t fuck up.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

Jackie shook his head. “Shit. Sal’s gonna walk in here any minute and you’re a fucking train wreck. You need a drink.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sit.”

 

“I’ll get blood on your couch.”

 

“The maid’ll clean it up. Just sit.”

 

Ray watched, feeling numb, as Jackie poured bourbon and tipped powder into the drink.

 

“See, Cuz,” Jackie explained as he stirred. “It’s not like snorting. It’s a new thing, okay? You put it in your drink. It’s a slower hit and you need more coke for it to work, but it lasts longer. Takes about an hour before you start coming down, and it’s a slow comedown. It’s not as hard, so Sal won’t notice, and it’ll really make you feel better.”

 

“What?”

 

“Oh God, you really are out of it. Look, it’s not poison, I’ll have some too this once. It’s good stuff.”

 

Jackie turned to prepare another drink. “Go on. Bottoms up.”

 

_Maybe he really is trying to poison me._

 

Ray knocked it back in a gulp.

 

“Good man, Cuz.”

 

By the time Ray had showered and changed into a fresh suit, he wasn’t feeling pain – or anything – at all.

 

**4:00pm**

 

“Where the fuck was Johnny?” Ray asked as he and Rossetti slid into a booth together. The VIP suite was nearly empty, and had been swept just that morning for bugs – by both sides. They could speak here undisturbed.

 

Of course, Rossetti was wearing a wire – probably something very high tech in her necklace. He found himself staring at it, transfixed. To anyone else, it would just look like he was staring at her breasts.

 

“Ray,” she said, “are you coming down off something?”

 

“I think I’ve come down,” he said, blinking his way back to attention. “I just need some coffee now.”

 

“You’ve been drinking,” she reproached him. “It’s been a hard day, but when did you start?”

 

“You didn’t answer my question. Where the fuck was Johnny?” For a second he panicked. “They didn’t kill him, did they?”

 

“No,” she reassured him. “No, he’s fine. It’s just Nero phoned Pender before we got through to the station, so we had no way ‘in’ as your lawyer, since they’d never heard of us.”

 

“Oh thank fuck for that,” he muttered, “I thought I’d got another one killed.” He frowned. “I wasn’t there long though, even for a Mafia boss. I mean, they’re investigating a murder – how come they let me out so suddenly?” His mind flitted sideways to another concern. “Last thing I needed was Jackie and fucking Pender ‘looking out’ for me –” Fuck, he couldn’t concentrate on one thing… “You don’t think the cops figured out it was…” Shit. He couldn’t say it, even without Armando standing next to him. “Someone else,” he finished. After all, he didn’t know for sure it was Jackie.

 

“The higher-ups moved quickly to quash the investigation, so it’s not going anywhere anyway. Don’t worry – your cover hasn’t been compromised, but the local PD now know that Langoustini’s being actively investigated by the FBI.”

“Oh, fucking marvellous. That’ll get out, and the brothers will be all over it like flies on shit.”

 

“Ray,” she said, sounding – scripted, like she was a psychiatrist or something. Which, now that he thought of it, she probably was. Part of her field training or something… “What’s been happening today? I know it’s been a shock. How are you doing?”

 

 _How am I doing? I’ve just started taking coke, and I fucking like it. Not enough to stick it up my nose, but I bet I do it again._ Shit. Who was he kidding? A week from now he’d be putting it up his nose if he had to – he’d already taken two of ‘Jackie’s specials.’

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Hannah died. You’re not fine.”

 

 _I’m not anything,_ he thought. _I don’t feel anything. Just … coming down._

“Leave it.” He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, watched the bright spots flare and fade. “Leave me alone. She either killed herself, in which case it’s my fault, or someone killed her because of me, in which case it’s my fault. I made her miserable, I broke her heart, then she died.” He made a dismissive little noise in his nose, not a snort. “‘How am I doing?’” He looked across at her, not making any pretence of them being a romantic couple. “How do you think?”

 

Rossetti glanced around the dimness of the club. He followed her gaze. Some of the other booths were occupied, but nobody was paying them any attention. The other couples were either engaged in carnal activities, or doing drugs. If they noticed anything, it would be that the Bookman was having his first lover’s tiff with Amelia. Rossetti stopped pretending to be romantic, and rolled her eyes. “You know why I have to ask…”

 

“Look, I asked you people to get her out. You didn’t. Now she’s dead.”

 

“You tried to get her out, and she’s still dead.”

 

Ray paused. “How long you been bugging my office?”

 

“We didn’t think you’d mind.”

 

“I don’t. What I do mind is you not telling me. Did you think I’d gone native?”

 

“Some of the higher-ups think it’s a risk.”

 

Ray started laughing. “So let them pull me. If that’s what they think.”

 

“Most of them don’t think so.”

 

“You know what I think? I think most of ’em don’t think at all.” Ray stood. Shit, times when he’d thought he was safe to talk to Mando, and the Feds had been listening. “I’m going.”

 

“Come with me to the hotel, just till the fundraiser. It’ll make it easier to avoid –”

 

“’Avoid the occasion of sin,’” Ray quoted. “Yeah, I know. But you know what? Fuck it. You people dropped me in this horseshit. If I wanna go and have a drink, I’ll go and have a goddamn drink.” She put a hand on his wrist, and he wrenched his arm away. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, “at the fundraiser. You’re my ‘date,’ so you can babysit me then.”

 

**_11:30 pm_ **

 

This thing was going to go till the small hours, and Ray wasn’t sure he’d manage to last the night – he’d had his third ever ‘Jackie cocktail,’ and it worked like magic. Problem was, though the comedown wasn’t a crash, it was still a big fucking comedown, and he could feel himself, just now, right on the cusp of coming down. He didn’t want to keep swallowing the stuff – God knew what it was doing to his stomach. He’d seen what it did to people’s noses.

 

But the brothers had nothing to complain about – he was doing his job with flair. So far he’d schmoozed, and rubbed shoulders, and gently menaced, depending on which tactic was necessary – and he’d raised them in excess of twenty-three million dollars in disaster relief for the people of Umbria and Marche. Sal was over with the show biz types, his arm around his goomah. _Wonder how Margharita feels about it,_ Ray wondered. She was pregnant, again. _How can Sal be a proud father to be, and parade his mistress around like that?_ Ray didn’t talk to her – apparently Armando hadn’t spoken to the woman in the ten years she and Sal had been an item. Something to do with her father being Portuguese, not Italian. She’d have been Sal’s first choice, Ray thought, if she’d been Sicilian.

 

Damn… definitely coming down. His mind was wandering, he was feeling number and dumber by the second.

 

He wasn’t asking for more of Jackie’s stuff. He went out on the balcony, checked to be sure nobody was looking, and cracked a couple of dexies. He poured the grains on his tongue and swallowed with plain bourbon. Nowhere near ideal, but it would take the edge off.

 

“Hey, Cuz.” Jackie ambled out after him. He was slurring slightly and looked half asleep. He could get away with it. His public persona was the clown of the court; Ray and Sal had to stay sharp. For a moment Ray envied Jackie that. He’d give anything not to have to pace himself so rigorously, to just get righteously shit-faced.

 

Jackie leaned his head against the wall and exhaled, his cigarette smoke ballooning up into the dark. Ray watched it, feeling floaty himself. The bright lights of Vegas reflected against the smoke, painting it pink and blue and green. Ray had never been to Canada in winter, but he bet that was what the Northern Lights would look like, distorted through someone’s breath.

 

Jackie was still talking. “You know, you’re putting on a good show in there. I heard a new joke about you. You wanna hear it?”

 

“Go on.”

 

“They’re saying the Bookman’s got the dick of death. Everyone you fuck, dies.” Jackie laughed and peered at Ray to see what reaction he would get.

 

“Maybe they got a point,” Ray said. Irene, Sarah, Hannah – hell even Angie had lost their baby. _Maybe we’re cursed,_ he thought, _me and Armando. We both lost everything._

 

 _‘Don’t be stupid,’_ his brother told him, out of the blue. _‘Everybody dies.’_

 

Jackie was still laughing. _‘You think this guy’s your friend, Mando?’_ Ray carefully addressed his brother in his head. _‘Look at him. He spied on you, he knew about the drugs, and he didn’t help you, he supplied you. He’s not your friend.’_

_‘He’s my cousin.’_

_‘He hates you.’_

Ray felt his brother’s pang of pain sharply in his chest, as vividly as if he’d been knifed. How many days since he’d remembered to take his anti whatchumacallit meds?

 

 _‘It’s you he hates,’_ Armando said, ‘ _not me. He knows you’re different, he doesn’t know why. But he would never have hurt me.’_

“You want another pick-me-up, Cuz?”

 

“No,” Ray watched the man carefully. “I’m good.”

 

“You are?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Jackie seemed to be working up to something, but since Ray didn’t have a clue what it was, it was best to say nothing.

 

Jackie opened his eyes, and Ray jerked a little. The guy had been drinking, but he was wide-awake, and sharp as a snake.

 

“You liked our little whore, didn’t you?”

 

_You fucking piece of shit…_

 

Ray smiled. “Honey? Yeah. She was a lotta fun.”

 

“Huh.” Jackie’s face glowed red for a moment as the tip of his cigarette brightened. “Well, so long as that’s all it was. Fun.”

 

He breathed out and stepped toward the balustrade. Smoke furled from his nostrils, as though he was a dragon. He stood against the skyline, surveying his kingdom.

 

“Why? What do you think it was?”

 

“I think she looked at you like the sun shone out your bony ass.” Jackie took one last drag, then flicked his cigarette over the balcony. Little sparks followed it as it curved away into darkness. “I don’t care if some whore got her heart broken.” His profile was swallowed up by shadows. “I care about you,” he said. “Did you fall for the bitch?”

 

 _I could push him._ Ray looked down over the balcony, at the long, long drop. _He wouldn’t be expecting it. I could wait till he’s looking away, and push him…_

Jackie closed his eyes, and leant forward, elbows on the railing. _I’ll tell ’em he was drunk, he stumbled – they’ll look at his blood alcohol, and they won’t be able to prove any different…_

 

Ray swallowed. His throat was dry. There stood Armando, next to Jackie. The ghost fixed his gaze on Ray, and challenged him. _‘Go on then, if you think you can. I dare you.’_

 

“Let’s get another drink,” Ray said, stepping back from the edge. Armando smiled – as though he’d known all along his cousin was safe, that Ray didn’t have it in him.

 

“Yeah,” Jackie turned toward him, opened his eyes. _That man never said ‘no’ to a drink._

Ray put an arm across Jackie’s shoulder, and walked them back into the ballroom. _I still got a job to do. I’m a murderer, but I ain’t gonna murder someone today._ He could feel it, starting in his chest, shivers. He dropped his arm from Jackie, so the man wouldn’t feel him shake.

 

“You didn’t answer my question. Did you fall for the bitch?”

 

“I don’t have to answer.”

 

“If Sal asks, you’ll have to.”

 

“When Sal asks, I will. Hey, Jackie, I got a question of my own.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“You kill her?”

 

Jackie turned to him, and smiled. “I didn’t have to, did I? Bitch killed herself.”

 

Ray paused, then smiled back. “I saw the crime scene, you know. Idiots thought they might shock me into a confession or something.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Jackie lifted his drink to his lips and sipped, thoughtfully. “So?”

 

“She was dead before they put her in the water. The cops’ll notice that.”

 

“You figured this out yourself?”

 

“You know me, Cuz. I’m a clever man. ”

 

“Well, if someone did it, they’d have hired a professional.”

 

“I hope so. Or at least someone expendable. Whoever did it fucked up. Really sloppy work; definitely not a pro.”

 

The flash of fear and uncertainty on Jackie’s face was barely noticeable, but Ray was watching for it; it was unmistakeable. _There,_ he thought, _I’ve got you._  

 

Ray knew. Absolutely knew. _You killed her yourself, you piece of shit._

 

Ray turned from his enemy, flashed the bitter thought at his brother: _‘I shoulda pushed him’_

_‘You couldn’t. He’s your cousin.’_

_‘Fuck you, Mando.’_

“Oh look,” he said to Jackie, in smooth tones. “There’s Amelia talking to the Senator’s wife. I’d better go join ’em – see what blood we can squeeze from that stone.”

 

“Yeah, you do that, Cuz.” Jackie sounded like there was nothing going on between them. “I’ll go see how Pender’s doing.”

 

Armando stayed with Jackie. Ray joined Rossetti, and hit up the Congressman’s wife for three quarters of a million. _(‘Write it off against tax,’ ‘poor orphans in tents this winter,’ ‘Italian community pulling together to help itself, not relying on outside aid…’)_

And this time, when he started to flag, he let Rossetti make excuses, and followed her obediently to the hotel.

 

**2:43am**

 

Johnny was waiting in the hotel suite, and Ray shocked them both by hugging the man. “Shit, I thought for a while there they’d killed you.”

 

“No, just a paperwork snaffoo…” Johnny backed out of the hug, with an embarrassed ‘what the fuck’ grin on his face.

 

“I can’t debrief now,” Ray said. “Please don’t ask me. Can it wait till tomorrow?”

 

“Give us your watch and let us do some blood tests –”

 

“Oh great.” He looked from Rossetti to Johnny and back again. “You’re gonna love what Jackie put in my drink.”

“He what?”

 

“Apparently I’m an Aztec now, they drank coke as well, didn’t they? I mean, not coca cola I mean –”

 

“You mean you’ve had coke?” Johnny was pale.

 

“How much?” Rossetti asked, more pragmatically.

 

“I don’t know. All I know is my stomach’s killing me, I want some fucking buttermilk, and I really don’t think I’m doing it again.” At that moment it seemed unlikely.

 

“I thought the brothers didn’t want you on drugs,” Johnny said, slowly. “Or, at least – they accepted it as inevitable up until the Muldoon deal, then they wanted you to get clean. So…”

 

“So why is Jackie trying to escalate your consumption?” Rossetti finished the sentence. “He knew about Armando’s addiction, he must know that if Armando was a coke addict this will just trigger the old cravings. Why would he want you to –?”

 

“He’s trying to get me killed, but he doesn’t want to do it himself.” The moment he said it, Ray realised he had known it for months. And then he suddenly realised something else. “Oh – oh God.”

 

“What?”

 

Ray sat with a whumph on the bed.

 

 _‘Don’t say it.’_ His brother was leaning threateningly into his face. _‘Don’t you dare fucking say it. It isn’t true.’_

“You know it’s true, Mando. You know it is.”

 

Johnny followed Ray’s gaze, eyes so sharp that for a moment Ray thought he could see his brother too. Rossetti sat beside Ray, and lightly touched his face, a deliberately grounding gesture.

 

“What,” she said, “what does Mando know?”

 

 _‘Please.”_ Mando looked desperate now. _“Don’t say it.’_

“What, you think if I don’t say it, it won’t be true?”

 

 _‘He wouldn’t.’_ Mando’s hand was gripping a lamp, his knuckles the colour of bone. _‘He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. He loved me.’_

 

“Mando,” Ray covered his face against his brother’s grief. “It wasn’t Onofri behind the hit at all. He was being used, like the Greek was. He thought he was in charge, but he was just another patsy. Jackie was behind the whole thing.”

 

Even the Feds heard the noise Armando made. The lamp shattered. A cold wind cracked through the room and all the lights went out.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**_Date Unknown_ **

_The woman laughs, then her voice turns stern. “You honestly think we’re going to let you die anytime soon?”_

_He moans._

_“We can keep this up forever. You’ll talk, sooner or later.” He hears a smile in her voice, and she kicks his bound shins. “You’ll talk.”_

 

**_Monday 22 nd September, 1997, 10.23 pm._ **

****

“You’re doing better, Ray.” Rossetti smiled at him as they walked from the elevator to the hotel room. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, no doubt because it was shaking. They both knew he wasn’t clean, but she was right – he was doing a hell of a lot better.

 

“The kids help,” Ray admitted. “Sal’s kids.”

 

“In what way?”

 

Ray fell silent, remembering the day before.

 

_Sal carried Nelly on his back when the ascent got tough for her. Marco soldiered on, manfully refusing Ray’s offer of a ride, but eventually gave in, and let his father carry him on his hip. When Alicia started to flag, Sal turned, with a grin, and said, “how much do you bet I can carry all three of you?” Ray laughed as the man scooped up his eldest daughter, and continued on up the hill. Alicia clung around her Pa’s neck, like a baby monkey, or the world’s biggest pendant._

 

“Just normal kid crap.”

 

_Last time I was in the desert with that guy we were killing people._

 

Rossetti shrugged. “Can’t say I like kids.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s nice to be 'round brats. Just like home.”

 

Rossetti’s eyes clouded as they stepped into the hotel suite.

 

“Clear?” she inquired, smiling at Johnny, who nodded confirmation. She turned her attention back to Ray. “Really, you shouldn’t have been considered for the job. I had no idea how much your family rely on you.”

 

“How are they?” He still asked, knowing he’d never get a detailed answer.

 

“They’re fine,” Johnny butted in, before Rossetti could say ‘that’s classified.’ Someone had obviously put the screws to her at some point recently, probably after he broke down laughing at Benny’s antics in Chicago with the gunrunners. Someone had probably put the screws to Johnny too, but he didn’t seem to give a flying fuck. “The Mountie’s fine, too,” he added, and shrugged at Rossetti, who sighed, and kicked off her shoes.

 

“Okay,” she said, “you two do your debrief. I’ll see you when you’re done with Doc Grey.”

 

 _Same old, same old,_ thought Ray, and handed her his watch.

 

“So,” Johnny said as the recorder started running. “You seem better.”

 

“It’s been better,” Ray admitted. “Jackie’s off my back, and I’m seeing more of Sal’s family. It’s like – you know, I get these little ‘islands of happy’ where I’m not a gangster and get to play with Sal’s kids.” That was it, really, the big change for the better. For a few hours at a time, a few days a week, he didn’t plot the best way to smuggle weapons across international borders; he didn’t falsify the hospital’s accounts to cover for drug trafficking; he didn’t talk to pimps about the girl’s territories, and he didn’t talk to Jackie about enforcement of taxes.

 

“What do you mean Jackie’s been off your back?”

 

“Yeah. Reckon he’s pissed at me, but I can live with that. And it helps cut down on the drinking.” _The drinking with other people,_ he thought sardonically. _I’m not about to tell him that I drink alone every night._

 

“Your relationships with both brothers have changed," Johnny said. He tilted his head back, frowning off into the empty space over Ray's shoulder. "It's troublesome. You're closer than ever to Sal, but there's a distance between you and Jackie that can't be good."

 

Ray shrugged. Apart from work-related things, he didn’t see much of Jackie these days – which should have bothered him. He was just so damn relieved he barely thought about it. “It makes my life easier.”

 

“You need to be careful,” Johnny insisted. “Jackie’s changed since Hannah’s death – he’s withdrawing from both you and his brother.”

 

Armando flickered into the room, and Ray turned his head. He’d taken his anti-thingummy crap, so the apparition was tolerable. He could ignore the damn thing. And if it got any worse he’d just take some of the other stuff.

_‘It’s your fault they’re fighting,’_ the ghost accused him. _‘I’ve been listening. You set them against each other. Was that your plan? Destroy us from the inside?’_

“I know. I’ll be careful.” Ray replied to Johnny and ostentatiously ignored his brother.

 

 _‘You won’t always be able to hide from me,’_ Armando’s voice was frost. _‘One day, you’ll die. And on that day I’ll be waiting for you.’_

“Are you alright, Ray? You’re looking a little pale.”

 

“I’m fine,” Ray lied, and hugged himself against the cold. “Just got to sort out some…” He stuttered to a halt. Mando couldn’t possess him anymore, but he had his frozen finger pushed up on Ray’s lip. Johnny’s eyes sharpened.

 

“Your brother?”

 

Ray closed his eyes, concentrated. When he opened them, Armando had backed off. “Sorry, I was just trying to say I’ve got to sort out some business. Immigration and green cards and so on. The brothers are using Smithson’s old businesses as a way of getting new blood into the country – I mean, they’re using them for other things too. But you’ll probably find an influx of Sicilian gas-station clerks.”

 

“They’re bringing in fresh _soldati?”_

 

“Yeah, loyal to us…”  Ray felt his heart hurt. “I mean… ‘them.’ I mean them.” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Armando was glaring hate at him. “God, when is this assignment ever going to end?” He hadn’t meant to speak aloud. He wasn’t thinking of going home, he was thinking of being able to lie down somewhere and never get up again.

 

“Soon,” Johnny said. “When we get Muldoon.”

 

“When’s that gonna be?”

 

Johnny shrugged, and looked helpless.

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“Soon.”

 

“Yeah, ‘soon’ my ass,” Ray laughed. “I’m gonna be here for the rest of my life.” Johnny opened his mouth, but Ray interrupted him, before he could offer another empty platitude. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you. You’re in the same boat, after all.”

 

Johnny’s lip twisted as he acknowledged the truth of that statement. Ray nodded. He’d realised some time back that he was holding Johnny hostage – there was nobody else he would trust as his handler, and the Feds knew it. They’d both been here forever already.

 

 

**_Thursday October 9 th, 1997. 5:45pm_ **

 

 _I am not thinking about my next drink,_ Ray told himself as he left his office. He scowled. _Rossetti’s gonna insist on water. Maybe orange juice if I’m lucky. Bitch._

 

He shook his head. He was being unfair, and he knew it. She was doing a damn good job, stopping him from killing himself. A few times since Hannah died he’d woken up and thought –

 

 _I don’t know what I think sometimes._ He’d started sleeping with the chamber of his gun empty. _It would be too easy some nights to just –_

 

_Stop it. Don’t go there._

Besides. He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t unhappy, he wasn’t crying all the time – he was fine.

 

 _‘You did a good day’s work,_ ’ said Armando, popping out of nowhere, _‘when you weren’t betraying us_.’ Ray glared at him. The one problem with being a little less stoned was that he saw more of his brother. _‘Good work satisfies the soul, doesn’t it?’_

 

“It wasn’t good work,” Ray snapped at the ghost. They were going down in the elevator to meet Ray’s bodyguard in the carport. Ray knew the security of this building back to front – he had his back to the camera so nobody could read his lips, and there was no audio. If he was gonna argue with Armando, now was as good a time as any. 

 

 _‘You could be me, you know,’_ Armando said. _‘You could take over where I left off – you’re good at it.’_

 

“Yeah, but why? What’s the point? We all end up dead anyway. Look at you. It didn’t make you happy, in the end.”

 

 _‘Loyalty to family is the only happiness there is.’_ Armando put his hand on Ray’s arm, and squeezed – not painfully, but pleadingly. _‘You can make this right. Do the right thing. Be me.’_

 

“I can’t…”

 

The elevator stopped and Ray fell silent in case someone else got on. _Hang on, this is the wrong floor…_

“Oh shit. Mando –”

 

The doors opened, and before he could do anything to protect himself he was surrounded. Four, no – six men. And then he was being crushed up into the corner of the elevator – and his throat was being squeezed and –

 

_Oh God, Oh God, please no, they’re killing me. Seven months, nine days in. Please, no, please, not dead…_

 

**_Date Unknown_ **

 

He wasn’t dead. He’d lost count of the days and nights, but he wasn’t dead.

 

_Why am I still alive?_

 

“You’re jonesing pretty bad now,” the woman was saying. “Who’d a thought the Bookman was a junkie? It sure took me by surprise.” There was a pause. He strained to hear her footfall as she circled his chair. “Is that how they got to you, the Feds? They got you on a drug charge? How long have you been working for them?”

 

Ray coughed. His throat was raw. He seemed to think he’d been screaming not too long ago – someone had been beating him with a strap. He’d thought it was Pa.

 

“If you tell us how long you’ve been working for them, I can give you some water. Or…” She paused, He could hear the smile in her voice. “Would you prefer a real drink?”

 

_Oh God._

 

“Come on,” she cooed, “how long have you been working for the Feds?”

 

 _‘Don’t die like this,’_ Armando said, somewhere in the back of his mind. _‘Don’t let my brothers think I died a junkie traitor.’_

“Everything,” Ray choked out, “everything I have ever done, my whole life, I did for my family.” He could feel himself crying beneath his hood, thinking of Ma, and Frannie, Maria and the kids, little Paulie away in Florida far from the family ghosts. And Benny – God, Benny who he would never see again. “All I ever loved was my family, all I ever wanted was to make them happy. And look at me now. No family, no friends. And still, all I do is for family. I’d never betray them. I’d sooner die.”

 

After several moments, a man’s voice broke into the silence.

 

“I believe him.”

 

“Sal?” And then he was crying for real, as Sal lifted off the hood. He shut his eyes against the blinding light. His eyelids scraped, as though they were dusty on the inside, and when Sal cut through the duct tape that bound his wrists he fell forward. The big man caught him, and patted his back.

 

“Mando,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I had to be sure.”

 

“Why would you think – why did you think –”

 

“Because the Feds stepped in when Honey died.” Sal was kneeling now, unbinding his ankles. “We knew someone was a rat. It was either you or Honey; we didn’t know who. And – Jackie’s right, you’ve been off for months.”

 

“I can’t believe you’d…” Ray looked over Sal’s shoulder, at Armando. “Mando,” he said, “I can’t believe they’d think that about you.”

 

Sal turned his attention to the woman – Ray recognised her now. Sal’s goomah. “Get us some water, and – uhm – stuff. He needs his head back straight.”

 

Ray shook his head at the pills but Sal insisted. “Look, we let you go through detox a bit – thought it would break you if you’d betrayed us. But you didn’t, so, I know how this works. You go cold turkey, you’re probably gonna die or something. So, it’s just diazepam. A bucket-load of it, but it’s gonna take the edge off.”

 

Obediently Ray drank the water and took the pills.

 

“Why,” he asked, still shaking, “why did you think it was me?”

 

“Because someone was setting you up, I think.” Sal helped Ray stand, and hooked an arm round him, made him walk. The room was darker than it had first appeared – the light that had at first blinded him was a forty watt bulb. There was no window, only a door, no furniture but the chair. Sal’s voice was gentle. “When you got back, who did you first get drugs from?”

 

“The doctor prescribed –”

 

“I mean illegal drugs, you idiot.” Sal squeezed his waist affectionately. “Don’t fall over. You need your sea legs back. So. Who was it?”

 

“One of the bodyguards.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“Al, I think. Or… No. Stevie. I got stuff off both of ’em.”

 

“And after that, who?”

 

“Mainly Honey.”

 

“And after that?”

 

“Pretty much anyone I asked.”

 

“Okay, Mando, you’re not gonna like this, but I think I know what happened.”

 

“Go on.” Ray’s knees gave out a little, but he pulled himself upright. He was still shaking, still needed a drink.

 

“We think Honey was a Fed.”

 

“A what? A…”

 

“Listen, here’s what we know. She knew you had a drug problem, she targeted you, and don’t pretend you didn’t get sucked in deeper when you were with her.”

 

“Honey was a Fed?” Ray tried to make sense of what Sal was saying, through the jumble in his head. How could they think that about Honey? She was just some poor kid hooked herself. But… _Shit, at least they don’t know it’s me._ “She was a Fed?” He repeated himself like an imbecile, staring at Sal for confirmation.

 

“She made you worse,” Sal told him. “She made you weak.”

 

“I never told her anything…”

 

“You sure of that? How do you know what she was doing when you were stoned out of your head? She could have been going through your papers, these people have methods you know.”

 

“She was only in my office once.”

 

“When you tried to pay her off. I know. We had you followed.”

 

“Of course you did.”

 

Sal shrugged, and stepped back, one hand resting on his shoulder to see if he could stand unassisted. “You’d have done the same thing in my position.” He shook his head, and changed the subject. “Anyway, Hannah wouldn’t go so the Feds killed her, in case she turned to our side and warned you.”

 

“They? You think the Feds did that?”

 

“Well, of course.” Sal’s face was a picture of frustration. “They’re the bad guys remember?”

 

 _Oh my God._ It suddenly hit him. _Maybe it was the Feds. The higher-ups might have done it – I already know they knew about the hit on Mando – that was why the sudden rush to get me in place. They knew it was coming. And like Johnny said – they stand by and watch us kill each other – what’s the difference between that and actually killing someone who makes an agent weak?_

“The Feds,” Ray whispered, part of him knowing this was nonsense, paranoia – withdrawal and fear. “The Feds killed Hannah.”

                                  

“I’m sorry, Mando.”

 

Ray shook his head. No sense, this made no sense… Jackie killed her. He knew that. He _knew_ it.

 

“What about Jackie?”

 

“What about him?”

 

“He aimed her at me, that first time – maybe it was him. Maybe he’s the one who’s been –”

 

The crack across Ray’s head was so sharp his neck hurt. He reeled back from the blow.

                                                                                                                                                                                      

“That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

 

“I thought he was mine, too,” Ray said in a small voice.

 

“Look, he’s been talking crap about you as well. Fuck… I’m gonna have to sit you both in a room, figure out how to fix this. Shit. Look at you.” Sal sighed. “Come on, let’s go see Jackie. He’s in the next room.”

 

Ray stepped through the door, and staggered at the moment of déjà vu. A practically identical room, with a man, duct-taped to a chair, hooded and bound.

 

“Jackie,” said Sal.

                                         

“Oh God,” the man muttered from under the hood. “I never thought it would be you, Sal. You believed him. You believed that bastard traitor.”

 

“I don’t believe either of you. Here.” Sal pulled off the hood. Jackie lifted his face, puffy with bruises, and Ray’s heart clenched in sudden pity at the look in the man’s eyes.

 

“Sal, you’re my brother.”

 

“And so’s Mando. He didn’t betray us. It was Honey.”

 

“How do you know it wasn’t Armando? He’s clever. He’s a good liar.”

 

“He’s been there for days, sick as a dog, and he never once said anything that would make me doubt him.”

 

Jackie glared at Ray, squinting through eyelids that were so swollen and bruised they looked like purple cushions. “He’s not our cousin. He never was.”

 

“Excuse me?” Ray’s voice squeaked. _Oh God, what’s Jackie found out?_

“Great, now you’ve gone mad as well,” Sal muttered.

 

“Has he been here as long as I have?” Ray asked. Sal nodded. “Give the man a drink.” Ray winced at the raw gratitude on Jackie’s face. Sal’s expression was blank for a moment, then he looked appalled. “He’s as bad off as me, Sal.” Ray cleared his throat. “Give the poor bastard a drink.”

 

“Shit,” Sal managed. “I didn’t realise.”

 

“Didn’t realise he was an alcoholic? We’re all fucking addicted to something. You and your weights, Jackie and me poisoning ourselves. We’re as bad as each other.”

 

Sal turned, and tilted his head, considering his point. A disgusted look of amusement flashed across his face, like a child suddenly getting a filthy joke for the first time. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “That’s not the point. The point is, you two, you nearly brought us down between you. We got to get this sorted out. ’Licia,” he commanded his goomah. “Get the men something to drink. Mando. Sit down before you fall down.”

 

Ray stepped back, slid down the length of the wall, and hugged himself. He hurt all over. And it dawned on him for the first time that he was wearing only his undershirt and boxers.

 

Fuck. They’d searched him. Thank God the watch cam was a solid piece of Fed engineering – he had been reassured that nobody outside the government would be able to spot the microscopic computer parts that acted as camera. Well, they must have been telling the truth. He was still here.

 

“Mando.” Sal was passing him a tin cup with something in it. He knocked it back in a sharp swallow, and started coughing. “Okay, your turn, Jackie. Sip it, don’t gulp. You got some explaining to do. What do you mean Mando was never our cousin? We just proved he never turned _pentito.”_

“Oh, it’s not his fault,” Jackie’s voice suddenly cracked. “God, I used to feel so sorry for the poor little bastard, not knowing.”

 

“Not knowing what?” Sal persisted. Ray panicked, even though the valium was kicking in now. “What are you talking about, Jackie?”

 

“Oh, you were too young to understand. You weren’t even three years old. Your dear cousin ‘Mando’ ain’t your cousin at all – at least, not the way you think.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ray managed. “You’re talking shit.”

 

“No,” Jackie said. His voice was raw, all the pretence and attitude stripped away. He sounded – God, he sounded sad. “No, Cuz. You’re not a Langoustini at all. The old man couldn’t get it up, so he bought you. Like a used car – someone didn’t want you, so here you are.”

 

Ray closed his eyes. Any minute now the word ‘twin’ was going to be mentioned, and Sal would finally kill him for real.

 

When he opened his eyes, Sal’s fist was raised not to Ray, but to Jackie. The younger brother’s eyes were burning with fury. “You,” he said, “you evil bastard. How dare you, how _dare_ you? That woman was a liar, you know she was a liar. She was a crazy bitch, and she hated Mando. Maybe hated her husband and took it out on her kid, I don’t know what her fucking deal was, but I’m telling you, that story she told, that Mando wasn’t really hers? She was talking out her ass. You know it, I know it – that’s why they locked the fucking bitch up in the madhouse. And nobody else ever heard her… her fucking delusions, so shut the fuck up. You say that again to anyone, I’ll kill you.”

 

Jackie lifted his head, stared his brother squarely in the eye.

 

“I was about six, Sal, coming on seven. She never looked pregnant. They kept her out of sight, but she never looked it. You know how skinny she always was. And then one day Paulie Zuko turns up – you remember him? Juliana’s cousin. And he has a baby with him.” Jackie jerked his chin in Ray’s direction. “I was always a nosey bastard – and you know what that family were like. They never saw kids. I was right behind the curtain. ’Here,’” Zuko says, ‘you can have him. My cousin didn’t want another mouth to feed.’”

 

Ray’s heart fell, and he stared up at the shocked face of his brother’s ghost.

 

What did Jackie just say? “’Cousin?’” Ray stuttered.

 

“Yeah,” Jackie said, his face twisted and sad. “Cause you are my ‘Cuz.’ Third or fourth something, on Juliana’s side, fifth or sixth on Langoustini’s. From the rotten side of the family tree. ‘Cause nobody in _my_ family would ever sell a child.”

 

 _Oh God,_ Ray thought, and a surge of sickness welled up in him. The Vecchios _were_ related to the Zukos – Pa was his second cousin. Which meant that…

 

_I really am related to these guys. And I’m related to the Onofris too – I killed family. Oh… God._

 

“Oh God,” he said, and started crying. “It’s true.”

 

“Jackie, you shit,” Sal said. “Why the hell are you telling us now?”

 

“Because I felt sorry for the little prick, when we were growing up. And then, when he got his act together, he was – I mean, come on, Armando on his game is fucking awesome. But he comes from bad stock. Look at him.” Jackie jerked his chin in Ray’s direction. “When he cracks up, he cracks like an egg. And you always listen to him, and you trust him, and he might as well be _capofamiglia –”_

“Don’t you _dare_ accuse me of being weak.”

 

“Not weak, Sal. Blinded. Just where he’s concerned. I was trying to protect you.Don’t you see now? We had to get rid of him. Cause he’s bad blood, he was gonna screw things up. He can’t help it – he cracked as a kid, he cracked at college, and he cracked this year.” Jackie looked fiercely at his brother. “Fuck’s sake, Sal. The mad bastard set his fucking _hands_ on fire.”

 

“Of course he cracked!” Sal was yelling. “For about a week and a half. And even then – that whole Yakuza thing, and Smithson, and this weapons deal we got going on. That’s not cracked, that’s what a _consigliere_ is _for._ You think your fucking plastic Paddy is going to do any better? He can talk the hind leg off any judge in the country, but he doesn’t know business.”

 

“Armando’s broke, little brother. You can’t keep trying to fix him.”

 

“It was you,” Ray finally managed to speak. “This year you tried to break me, didn’t you? You took out the hit. Onofri thought he was hiding behind the Greek, but you were pulling the strings on both of them. And when that didn’t work you tried to break me from the inside, with… with the drugs and Hannah. You’ve been trying to kill me, or get Sal to do it. Haven’t you?”

 

“Jackie?” Sal’s voice was a whisper.

 

“Oh, come on, Sal! He’s a head-case. He always has been. We’d be better off without –”

 

Sal hit his brother so hard that the chair fell over. The big man stood over the bound form, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side.

 

“You killed them,” he said. “You used Onofri and the Greek to do it, but you killed my niece and nephew. You killed my sister-in-law, his children’s mother, damn it. You killed Mando’s goomah, and you were gonna kill Mando.”

 

“It was for our own protection! I didn’t mean for the kids to die – I loved them. How the fuck was I to know he’d take them on a road trip at one in the morning?”

 

 _‘It was a starry night,’_ Armando whispered. Ray repeated his brother’s words. “It was a starry night. I’d been working all week – it was the only time I had. I was going to show them the stars.”

 

_God, that’s what he’d been doing._

 

Sal stared at Armando – Ray – and blinked. He brought his thumb up to catch a tear before it spilled. “Mando,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

 

“I was doing this for us,” Jackie pleaded. “As a family. You gotta understand –”

 

“Were you and Hannah working together?”

 

“I needed someone I could trust to see how badly he was cracking up. We needed to know. He was talking to himself again.”

 

“Hannah made him worse. You musta known she’d give him drugs.”

 

“Jackie gave me drugs,” Ray said, in a dull voice. “At the second fundraiser.” He knew as he said it that he was sentencing Jackie, or himself, to death, depending on who Sal believed. He didn’t much care which way it went.

 

“You did what?” Sal turned on his brother, eyes widening with horror.

 

Jackie glared at Ray, as though he was the one being betrayed.

 

“You didn’t complain at the time.”

 

“What the hell did you give him?”

 

“Nothing,” Jackie lied, too late. He’d already given the game away. “I…”

 

“He gave me coke,” Ray said. “Mixed in with bourbon. Said you wouldn’t notice because it was a longer hit and the crash wasn’t as bad.” He paused. “He’s right, by the way.” He coughed. Suddenly he really, really wanted coke.

 

Sal knelt next to his brother, still lying on the floor bound to his chair. “Jackie, did you use Hannah to spy on Mando, or to get him addicted again?”

 

Jackie said nothing.

 

“Jackie,” Sal’s voice cracked. “Did you know she was a Fed?”

 

“Fuck’s sake, no. If anyone’s a Fed round here, it’s Armando. I can smell it on him – cop stink.”

 

“The only person in this room who’s betrayed anyone is you,” Sal said. “You’re the only one.”

 

“I’m not a fucking traitor!”

 

“But you did break every vow. You spilled family blood, you killed innocents.”

 

“He’s not family! He’s an… accessory. They bought him to go along with their fucking furniture.”

 

Sal stood and kicked Jackie in the stomach, kicked again. Turned, reached down and dragged Ray to his feet. The big man’s face was desperate and wild. “I can’t,” he said, “I can’t do it.”

 

“What?” Jackie yelled from the floor. “Can’t what? You know you gotta kill one of us.”

 

“I can’t,” Sal pleaded, looking Ray in the eyes. “He’s my – you’ll have to do it. Please, Mando – we gotta kill him, he betrayed us, but he’s my – he’s my brother.”

 

 _‘He’s my brother too,’_ Armando said, dropping to his knees beside Jackie. _‘I thought he was. I thought he was.’_

“’Loyalty to family,’” Ray whispered, quoting his brother, “’is the only happiness there is.’” Mando, even now, was shielding his betrayer with his incorporeal body.

 

“Please, Mando,” Sal was weeping. “It has to be one of us. It can’t just be some _soldato_ or _capo –_ he deserves better.

 

“I… I can’t.” _Not again. Please God, not again. Not another battered bleeding man on the floor._

Sal pressed the gun into Ray’s hands and stepped back.

 

_Oh God…_

 

Jackie’s fierceness bled away at the sight of the gun. The last few days had etched long lines of pain into his jowly face, but he looked strangely young. Ray took three unsteady steps, then knelt next to him.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because…” Jackie’s sounded like the kid he once was. “You weren’t one of us.” His voice cracked, “You weren’t one of us. But Sal loved you more.”

 

No ritual this time, no Judas kiss. Nothing.

 

Blinking hard so he could see straight, Ray carefully placed the gun against Jackie’s head.

 

“Don’t struggle,” he whispered, his hand cradling his cousin’s cheek.

 

Jackie closed his eyes. When Ray opened his own, it wasn’t Jackie on the floor anymore.

 

                                                                              

 

He buried his cousin in the desert. Sal didn’t want to know where.

 

Ray drove out past the flurry of rocks that Sal and the rest of the family had used as a picnic point. The mountains rose ahead of him, and he drove up until his ears popped with the altitude. Then, he pulled up and walked round to the back of the car.

 

Jackie was heavy and awkward, and Ray struggled as he pulled him out of the trunk. Rigor mortis was just beginning to set in, and Ray stumbled as he arranged the weight across his shoulder.

 

And then, he started to climb. Last time he had walked through a wilderness carrying a man on his shoulder, it had been through trees, and the man was alive, the man was Benny –

 

This thing wasn’t alive. It wasn’t a man. It was –

 

It had been Jackie. And Ray had killed him. It had been Jackie, and Jackie was a monster, but –

 

Ray was a monster, too.

 

Armando was standing at the burial point, but even if he hadn’t been, Ray would have known Jackie’s grave the minute he saw it. A wind-sculpted arch of stone, like a bridge from nowhere to nowhere. They had always been heading here, Jackie and Armando.

 

This part of the mountain was littered with warped rock formations – wind sculptures. Perhaps where he stood was visible from the spot where he had picnicked with Sal’s kids – he didn’t know. He did know that it looked as though he was surrounded by giant chess pieces, dreamscape monuments to time and decay. The twisted forms cast goblin shadows in the light of the moon.

 

Beneath the buckled bridge Ray laid out Jackie’s body. The bridge could have stood ten thousand years, being whittled by the merciless wind.

 

He unfolded the emergency spade he had taken from the trunk of the car, and started to dig. The first strike made a crisp hiss as it dislodged dry earth, and the second, and the third – and then he was in a trance, methodically digging a hole.

 

A little longer than he was tall, so Jackie could lie flat and comfortable, deep enough that it was a struggle to get out. Ray grasped at the foot of the bridge, and pulled himself up. Good. Six foot deep, just like a good grave should be.

 

When he laid Jackie down in it, he realised he’d made the hole too big – there was room for two bodies there. _But if I lie down here, who will fill it in for us?_

 

Maybe the wind…

 

Ray knelt at Jackie’s side, and tried to remember how to pray. He touched his mother’s cross – nothing. He tried to remember her voice praying for him – at least one word to start him off – nothing. He dropped his hand into his pockets, felt around. A compass. He was scared to read it, to see what direction it was pointing in. He wouldn’t be able to see it in this light, anyway. He could barely see Jackie’s face.

 

There in the right pocket, was the flask he had bought with him. He twisted off the cap, touched Jackie’s mouth, gently tugged so the stiff jaw would part slightly. Poured in some bourbon. Put the lid back on, and tucked the flask into the crook of his cousin’s elbow. He folded the dead hands neatly across Jackie’s hairy chest. The man was in nothing but his boxers. Ray wanted to cry, but there were no tears.

 

What else? What else did you do at a funeral?

 

Ray took coins from his pocket. _Pennies for the ferry man,_ he thought, placing them on Jackie’s eyes. It was dark, here in the grave, so he couldn’t see it, the third eye, the bullet hole, but he could feel it, staring out accusingly from Jackie’s forehead.

 

He wanted to say something – there was supposed to be a eulogy at a funeral, wasn’t there?

 

There was nothing to say.

 

He climbed out of the pit, and started filling it in.

 

By the time he had finished, the sun was coming up. The sand and stone and twisted bridge were the colour of blood.

 

Only then did he realise why he’d dug a double grave.

 

His brother sat on the bridge, his legs dangling like a child’s, guarding the spot.

 

“Mando?”

 

Armando said nothing.

 

“Are you coming?”

 

Armando lifted his blank gaze, then turned his head away _._

Ray felt it in his heart, like some rotten fabric was being torn inside his chest. This was the last time he would ever see his brother. Jackie had betrayed him in every way, but even so, Armando couldn’t leave him.

 

“Oh, Mando,” Ray choked out, then turned and started back to the valley below.

 

The ghost would remain, guarding his cousin’s bones till the sky fell in or the ferry-man came sailing across the Nevada desert.

 

****

**_Epilogue_ **

 

And there was no punishment, at all.        

 

Ray got back to the car, met somewhere in the middle of the desert with his bodyguards, one of whom took his vehicle to be disposed of, while the other drove him home.

 

He called the Feds’ emergency number. Apparently he’d been gone four days. They’d pulled Amelia out of the op – they thought he’d been made, and would give her up under torture. Other than that everything remained the same. It was some weeks before he’d recovered physically – he and Sal put it about that he’d got food poisoning while abroad. He kept the drinking to night-time, and the drugs to when he needed them – more than when he’d had Amelia, less than when he’d had Hannah.

 

He met with Johnny three times a week, in the roadside diner, and they didn’t talk about who killed Jackie, and they didn’t talk about the drugs. None of that. He just tried not to turn up too obviously stoned.

 

He chased up the taxes until a new _capo bastone_ could be found. He stood by and cleaned his nails while a loyal captain broke the kneecaps of one who was withholding payment. And eventually a new _capo bastone_ was selected – the one who had ‘taken care’ of Pender. Ray sat with Sal, after the vote had been counted and the _capos_ had gone, put his arm around his brother, and let him cry.

 

He celebrated Christmas with Sal’s kids – Margarita’s pregnancy was blooming. He didn’t go to Mass.

 

He had sex with hookers, for old time’s sake. It didn’t help, for more than a moment.

 

He worked on the Muldoon contract – it was coming together nicely now.

 

And time passed, the merciless grind of days and weeks, and he forgot to count them. Sometimes it scared him, how much he felt like his own ghost. Sometimes, between meetings with the Feds, he almost forgot he’d ever had another home, or any other brother than Sal.

 

Until Muldoon finally decided on a venue for their meeting.

 

Chicago.

 

**Author's Note:**

> New chapters to be published on a Monday.
> 
> Thanks to Happy and Vicki for cheerleading, Happy for picking up on Britisms and 'wtf?' moments, CC for initial beta, Tortie for character discussions - and everyone for continuing to read. And JDD as always, for helping me thrash out plot for this one, and taking time to beta while involved in creative projects of her own. You're all wonderful.


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